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LIGATION 

ATA    AND 
PRINCIPLES 


LIBRAE 

CAUFORN'A 

SAN  DIEGO 


UJ    ,     C  .    v  (jlAAjl^ 


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EDUCATION: 
ITS   DATA   AND   FIRST   PRINCIPLES 


THE  MODERN  EDUCATOR'S  LIBRARY 

General  Editor — Professor  A.  A.  Cock. 

Crown  8vo.     Uniform  Cloth  Binding. 

Price  6s.  net,  each  volume. 

Education :  Its  Data  and  First  Principles. 
By  T.  P.  Nunn,  M.A.,  D.Sc,  Professor  of 
Education  in  the  University  of  London. 

Moral  and  Religious  Education.  By  Sophie 
Bryant,  D.Sc,  Litt.D.,  late  Headmistress, 
North  London   Collegiate  School   for  Girls. 

The  Teaching  of  Modern  Foreign  Lan- 
guages in  School  and  University.  By 
H.  G.  Atkins,  M.A.,  D.Lit.,  Professor  of 
German  in  King's  College,  University  of  Lon- 
don ;  and  H.  L.  Hutton,  M.A.,  Senior  Modern 
Language  Master  at  Merchant  Taylors'  School. 

The  Child  under  Eight.  By  E.  R.  Murray, 
Vice-Principal,  Maria  Grey  Training  Col- 
lege, Brondesbury ;  and  Henrietta  Brown 
Smith,  LL.A.,  Lecturer  in  Education,  Gold- 
smiths' College,  University  of  London. 

The  Organisation  and  Curricula  of  Schools. 
By  W.  G.  Sleight,  M.A.,  D.Lit.,  L.C.C.,  Organ- 
iser of  Training  Classes  and  Adviser  of  Studies 
for  Day  Continuation  School  Teachers. 

An  Introduction  to  the  Psychology  of  Educa- 
tion. By  James  Drever,  M.A.,  B.Sc,  D.Phil., 
Reader  and  Combe  Lecturer  in  Psychology  in 
the  University  of  Edinburgh. 

The  Moral  Self :  Its  Nature  and  Development. 
By  A.  K.  White,  M.A.,  and  A.  Macbeath,  M.A., 
Lecturers  in  Moral  Philosophy  in  the  University 
of  Glasgow.  With  a  Foreword  by  Professor 
A.  D.  Lindsay. 

A  Survey  of  the  History  of  Education.  By  Helen 
Wodehouse,  M.A.,  D.Phil.,  Professor  of  Educa- 
tion in  the  University  of  Bristol. 

EDWARD    ARNOLD    &  CO.,   LONDON 


/  o 


THE  MODERN  EDUCATOR'S  LIBRARY 

(general  Editor — Prof.  A.  A.  Cock 

EDUCATION : 

ITS  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 


BY 

T.  PERCY  NUNN, 

M.A.,  D.Sc. 

PROFESSOR    OF    EDUCATION    IN   THE   UNIVERSITY   OF    LONDON 

AND    PRINCIPAL   OF   THE    LONDON    DAY   TRAINING    COLLEGE 

AUTHOR   OF    "THE    AIMS   AND    ACHIEVEMENTS   OF   SCIENTIFIC   METHOD," 

"THE    TEACHING    OF    ALGEBRA,"    ETC. 


EIGHTH  IMPRESSION 


LONDON 
EDWARD  ARNOLD  &  CO. 

41-43,  MADDOX   STREET,  BOND  STREET,  W. 

[All  rights  reserved] 


MADE   AND    PRINTED    IN   GREAT    BRITAIN    BY 
BILLING    AND   SONS,   LTD.,   GUILDFORD  AND   ESHER 


EDITOR'S  PREFACE 

The  Modem  Educator's  Library  has  been  designed  to  give 
considered  expositions  of  the  best  theory  and  practice  in 
English  education  of  to-day.  It  is  planned  to  cover  the 
principal  problems  of  educational  theory  in  general,  of 
curriculum  and  organization,  of  some  unexhausted  aspects 
of  the  history  of  education,  and  of  special  branches  of 
applied  education. 

The  Editor  and  his  colleagues  have  had  in  view  the 
needs  of  young  teachers  and  of  those  training  to  be  teachers, 
but  since  the  school  and  the  schoolmaster  are  not  the  sole 
factors  in  the  educative  process,  it  is  hoped  that  educators 
in  general  (and  which  of  us  is  not  in  some  sense  or  other 
an  educator  ?)  as  well  as  the  professional  schoolmaster  may 
find  in  the  series  some  help  in  understanding  precept  and 
practice  in  education  of  to-day  and  to-morrow.  For  we 
have  borne  in  mind  not  only  what  is  but  what  ought  to  be. 
To  exhibit  the  educator's  work  as  a  vocation  requiring  the 
best  possible  preparation  is  the  spirit  in  which  these  volumes 
have  been  written. 

No  artificial  uniformity  has  been  sought  or  imposed,  and 
while  the  Editor  is  responsible  for  the  series  in  general,  the 
responsibility  for  the  opinions  expressed  in  each  volume  rests 
solely  with  its  author. 

ALBERT  A.  COCK. 
University  College,  * 

Southampton. 


AUTHOR'S  PREFACE 

This  book  is  addressed  to  two  classes  of  readers.  It  offers  to 
professional  students  a  preliminary  survey  of  the  whole  field 
of  educational  theory  and  practice;  while  the  wider  public, 
whose  enlightened  interest  is  the  mainspring  of  social  progress, 
may,  I  hope,  find  in  its  pages  something  to  stimulate  reflection 
upon  those  larger  issues  which  must  be  determined,  if  at  all, 
by  the  consensus  of  their  opinion.  In  outlining  such  a  survey, 
in  collecting  materials  for  such  reflection,  I  am  aware  that  I 
have  attempted  what  has  often  been  done  before.  But  as 
knowledge  and  experience  grow,  and  as  the  spiritual  atmo- 
sphere of  an  age  changes,  there  is  always  room  for  another 
attempt — especially,  perhaps,  for  one  that  presents  the  data 
of  education,  as  they  are  presented  here,  from  a  definite  point 
of  view.  In  short,  an  author  need  apologize  not  for  doing  the 
thing  again,  but  only  for  not  doing  it  better. 

Before  a  reader  commits  himself  to  following  an  argument, 
he  is  entitled  to  know  in  a  general  way  whither  it  seeks  to  lead 
him.  I  may  say,  then,  that  my  purpose  is  to  reassert  the  claim 
of  Individuality  to  be  regarded  as  the  supreme  educational 
end,  and  to  protect  that  ideal  against  both  the  misprision  of 
its  critics  and  the  incautious  advocacy  of  some  of  its  friends. 
I  believe  that  a  sane  and  courageous  pursuit  of  the  principle 
of  individuality  in  education  is  above  all  things  necessary, 
if  our  civilization  is  to  strengthen  its  now  precarious  foothold 
between  the  tyranny  of  the  few  and  the  tyranny  of  the  many. 

It  is  my  pleasant  duty  to  acknowledge  many  helpful 
criticisms  I  have  received  from  my  colleagues,  Professor  John 
Adams  of  the  University  of  London  and  Professor  Bompas 


AUTHOR'S  PREFACE  vii 

Smith  of  the  University  of  Manchester,  and  to  thank  my 
friends,  Captain  F.  A.  Cavenagh  and  Mr.  J.  C.  Hague,  for  help- 
ing me  to  make  smoother  many  rough  places  in  my  exposition. 
1  have  also  to  thank  the  editor  of  the  Educational  Times  for 
permission  to  incorporate  an  article  on  play  published,  some 
years  ago,  in  that  journal,  and  the  editor  of  the  Mathematical 
Gazette  for  allowing  me  to  use  some  paragraphs  from  my 
presidential  address  to  the  Mathematical  Association. 

As  an  officer  of  the  London  County  Council,  I  am  required 
by  the  regulations  to  state  that  the  Council  is  in  no  degree 
responsible  for  any  of  the  opinions  that  stand  under  my 
name. 

T.  P.  NUNN. 
London, 

January   1920. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

editor's  preface     .... 
author's  preface    .... 
I.  THE  aim  of  education 

II.   LIFE   AND   INDIVIDUALITY       • 
m.   THE  WILL  TO   LIVE     - 
IV.   THE   LIVING  PAST 

V.   THE  RELATIONS  RETWEEN  HORME  AND  MNEME 
VI.   ROUTINE   AND   RITUAL 

VII.   PLAY  ..... 

VIII.   THE   "  PLAY  WAY  "   IN   EDUCATION     • 
IX.    NATURE   AND   NURTURE 

X.   IMITATION        .  .  -  -  - 

XL    INSTINCT  - 

XH.   THE   GROWTH  OF  THE  SELF 

XIII.  THE  MECHANISM  OF  KNOWLEDGE  AND  ACTION 

XIV.  THE   DEVELOPMENT   OF   KNOWLEDGE 
XV.   THE   SCHOOL  AND   THE   INDIVIDUAL 

INDEX  - 


PACT 

iii 
v 
1 

10 

23 

33 

42 

38 

68 

80 

104 

119 

130 

110 

160 

177 

195 

221 


viii 


CHAPTER  I 

TIIE   AIM  OF  EDUCATION 

"  Every  art,"  said  Aristotle  in  his  famous  exordium,  "  is 
thought  to  aim  at  some  good."  Now  education,  as  we  shall 
consider  it  in  this  book,  is  certainly  an  art.  It  is  reasonable, 
then,  to  begin  by  asking  at  what  good  it  aims. 

There  is  no  lack  of  confident  answers  to  the  question. 
The  purpose  of  education,  one  says,  is  to  form  character; 
another,  to  prepare  for  complete  living ;  a  third,  to  produce  a 
sound  mind  in  a  sound  body ;  and  the  series  of  replies  of  this 
kind  could  easily  be  continued.  All  of  them  seem  satisfactory 
until,  pursuing  the  matter  farther,  we  ask  what  kind  of 
character  it  is  desirable  to  "  form,"  what  activities  "  complete 
living  "  includes,  or  what  are  the  marks  of  a  healthy  mind. 
We  then  find,  as  Dr.  M.  W.  Keatinge  has  trenchantly  pointed 
out,  that  the  success  of  these  attempts  to  state  a  universal 
aim  for  education  is  largely  illusory,  being  due  chiefly  to  the 
happy  fact  that  every  one  may,  within  wide  limits,  interpret 
them  exactly  as  he  pleases.  For  A.'s  idea  of  a  fine  character 
turns  out  to  be  either  ridiculous  or  rankly  offensive  to  B.; 
what  C.  regards  as  complete  living  would  be  a  spiritual  death 
for  D.;  while  the  mens  sana  in  corpore  sano  that  E.  reveres, 
F.  loathes  as  the  soul  of  a  prig  housed  in  the  body  of  a  bar- 
barian. In  face  of  such  discoveries  a  cynic  might  declare 
that  the  real  use  of  the  maxims  we  have  quoted  is  to  conceal, 
as  behind  a  verbal  fog-screen,  differences  of  educational  faith 
and  practice  too  radical  to  be  harmonized  and  too  serious  to  be 
exposed  to  the  public  view. 

The  origin  of  these  unhappy  differences  is  easily  disclosed. 

1 


2      EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

Every  scheme  of  education  being,  at  bottom,  a  practical 
philosophy,  necessarily  touches  life  at  every  point.  Hence 
any  educational  aims  which  are  concrete  enough  to  give 
definite  guidance  are  correlative  to  ideals  of  life — and,  as 
ideals  of  life  are  eternally  at  variance,  their  conflict  will  be 
reflected  in  educational  theories.  For  example,  if  the  "  Greek 
view  of  life  "  cannot  be  reconciled  with  that  of  the  Puritan 
reformers,  it  is  idle  to  look  for  harmony  between  the  concep- 
tions of  education  that  sprang  from  them.  Moreover,  it  is 
not  only  true  that  no  ideal  of  life  has  for  long  reigned  un- 
challenged over  civilized  men,  even  of  the  same  race  and 
nation;  we  must  also  recognize  that  among  the  nominal 
followers  of  an  ideal  there  are  always  rival  sections,  doubtful 
adherents  and  secret  rebels.  Is  it  wonderful,  then,  that  the 
prophets  of  education  constantly  gainsay  one  another  and  that 
the  plain  man  knows  not  where  to  turn  for  truth  ? 

The  root  of  the  trouble  doubtless  lies  in  the  complexity  of 
human  nature,  and  especially  in  one  of  its  strangest  paradoxes. 
From  one  standpoint  men  seem  like  solitary  inhabitants  of 
islands,  each  sundered  from  the  rest  by  an  impassable  sea. 
Your  spirit,  for  example,  and  mine  can  communicate  in- 
directly and  clumsily  by  means  of  the  sounds  our  lips  utter 
and  the  written  or  printed  marks  our  fingers  frame ;  but  there 
is  no  direct  touch  between  us  and  no  community  of  being: 
you  are  for  ever  you  and  I,  I.  Yet  from  another  standpoint 
men  are  seen  most  truly  to  be  every  one  members  one  of 
another.  We  come  into  the  world  with  minds  as  empty  as  our 
bodies  are  naked;  and  just  as  our  bodies  are  clothed  by  others' 
hands,  so  our  spirits  are  furnished  with  what  enters  into 
them  from  other  spirits.  Stripped  of  these  borrowings  we 
could  hardly  live,  and  should  certainly  be  less  than  human. 

When  men  philosophize  about  life  they  are  prone  to  lay 
exclusive  stress  upon  one  or  other  of  its  contradictory  aspects. 
Thus  to  many  thinkers  of  post-Reformation  Europe  the 
individual  life  seemed  not  only  self-contained  but  also  self- 
sufficient;  men,  they  held,  formed  themselves  into  societies 


THE  AIM  OF  EDUCATION  3 

only  because  the  life  according  to  nature,  besides  being 
"  solitary,"  was  also  "  poor,  nasty,  brutish,  short."  This 
exaggerated  individualism  was  followed,  when  it  had  run  its 
dramatic  course  in  history,  by  a  reaction  which  reached  its 
theoretical  climax  in  the  pages  of  Hegel.  Here  Hobbes'  order 
is  completely  reversed :  society,  instead  of  being  the  offspring 
of  man's  invention,  becomes  the  parent  of  his  spiritual  being. 
Conceived  in  the  hardened  form  of  the  State,  it  is  a  super- 
personal  entity,  a  Leviathan  in  a  sense  Hobbes  never  reached, 
of  which  the  single  life  is  but  a  fugitive  element — an  age-long 
spiritual  life  from  which  the  individual  spirit,  with  its  private 
will  and  conscience,  draws  whatever  measure  of  reality  it 
possesses. 

Each  of  these  rival  ideas  arose,  as  philosophies  generally 
arise,  out  of  the  social  and  political  conditions  of  the  time,  and, 
in  turn,  reacted  strongly  both  upon  those  conditions  and  upon 
the  educational  practice  that  reflected  them.  For  the  results 
in  the  former  case  the  reader  must  consult  the  historians,  but 
the  bitter  fruit  of  the  Hegelian  ideas  has  ripened  and  been 
gathered  under  his  own  eyes.  It  would  be  absurd  as  well  as 
unjust  to  charge  upon  any  philosopher  the  whole  guilt  of 
Armageddon;  for  philosophers,  as  we  have  said,  only  give 
definite  form  and  direction  to  movements  which  are  stirring 
vaguely  and  irresistibly  in  a  million  minds  around  them.1 
Nevertheless  the  connection  between  the  World  War  and 
Hegelianism  is  too  close  to  be  ignored.  From  the  idealism  of 
Hegel  more  than  from  any  other  source,  the  Prussian  mind 
derived  its  fanatical  belief  in  the  absolute  value  of  the  State, 
its  deadly  doctrine  that  the  State  can  admit  no  moral  authority 
greater  than  its  own,  and  the  corollary  that  the  educational 
system,  from  the  primary  school  to  the  university,  should  be 
used  as  an  instrument  to  engrain  these  notions  into  the  soul 
of  a  whole  people. 

1  And  it  should  be  remembered  that  a  noble  line  of  British  thinkers — 
e.g.,  T.  H.  Green,  the  Cairds,  F.  H.  Bradley,  B.  Bosanquet,  Lord  Haldane, 
Sir  H.  Jones — have  drawn  inspiration  from  Hegel. 


4       EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

The  most  urgent  question  before  the  educators  of  to-day 
is  whether  they  are  to  foster  this  sinister  tradition  or  to  help 
humanity  to  escape  from  it  to  something  better.  There  can, 
of  course,  be  no  return  to  the  doctrine  of  Hobbes ;  his  leader- 
ship would  be  quite  as  fatal  as  Hegel's.  The  idea  that  social 
bonds  are  imposed  upon  the  individual  from  without  and 
accepted  under  the  terms  of  a  "  social  contract  "  has,  in  fact, 
long  been  exploded.  It  is  now  recognized  universally  that  they 
originate  within  man's  nature  and  are  woven  inextricably 
into  the  texture  of  his  being.  The  strongest  "  self-regarding  " 
impulses  cannot  fashion  a  life  that  would  not  fall  to  pieces 
if  the  social  elements  were  withdrawn.  The  most  original 
personality  is  unintelligible  apart  from  the  social  medium  in 
which  it  grows ;  no  Thoreau  could  hide  himself  so  deeply  in  the 
woods  as  to  escape  from  the  social  in  his  own  mind.  What 
is  needed  is  not  the  repudiation  of  these  facts,  but  a  doctrine 
which,  while  admitting  their  full  significance,  yet  reasserts  the 
importance  of  the  individual  and  safeguards  his  indefeasible 
rights. 

Such  a  doctrine  we  seek  to  set  out  in  these  pages  and  to 
make  the  basis  of  a  stable  educational  policy.  We  shall  stand 
throughout  on  the  position  that  nothing  good  enters  into  the 
human  world  except  in  and  through  the  free  activities  of 
individual  men  and  women,  and  that  educational  practice  must 
be  shaped  to  accord  with  that  truth.  This  view  does  not  deny 
or  minimize  the  responsibilities  of  a  man  to  his  fellows ;  for  the 
individual  life  can  develop  only  in  terms  of  its  own  nature, 
and  that  is  social  as  truly  as  it  is  "  self-regarding."  Nor  does 
it  deny  the  value  of  tradition  and  "  discipline  "  or  exclude  the 
influences  of  religion.  But  it  does  deny  the  reality  of  any 
super-personal  entity  of  which  the  single  life,  taken  by  itself, 
is  but  an  insignificant  element.  It  reaffirms  the  infinite  value 
of  the  individual  person ;  it  reasserts  his  ultimate  responsibility 
for  his  own  destiny ;  and  it  accepts  all  the  practical  corollaries 
that  assertion  implies. 


THE  AIM  OF  EDUCATION  5 

Returning  to  an  earlier  remark,  we  may  state  the  position 
in  another  way.  While  every  man  tends  to  draw  his  ideal  of 
life  largely  from  the  inspiration  of  others,  yet  it  may  be  main- 
tained that,  in  a  perfectly  good  sense  of  the  words,  each  must 
have  his  own  unique  ideal.  It  is  the  sense  in  which  every  work 
of  art — for  instance,  every  poem — has  its  own  ideal.  A  poet 
who  recognizes  that  his  creative  impulse  has  failed  would  never 
point  to  another  poem  and  say,  "  That  is  what  I  intended  to 
do."  His  ideal  was  concrete,  and  to  be  embodied,  if  at  all, 
in  his  poem  and  in  no  other.  It  marks  the  perfect  achievement 
from  which  his  work  has  fallen  short ;  not  a  goal  that  another 
has  or  might  have  reached.  It  follows  that  there  can  be  no 
universal  aim  of  education  if  that  aim  is  to  include  the  asser- 
tion of  any  particular  ideal  of  life ;  for  there  are  as  many  ideals 
as  there  are  persons.  Educational  efforts  must,  it  would  seem, 
be  limited  to  securing  for  every  one  the  conditions  under 
which  individuality  is  most  completely  developed — that  is, 
to  enabling  him  to  make  his  original  contribution  to  the 
variegated  whole  of  human  life  as  full  and  as  truly  character- 
istic as  his  nature  permits ;  the  form  of  the  contribution  being 
left  to  the  individual  as  something  which  each  must,  in  living 
and  by  living,  forge  out  for  himself. 

We  shall  have  to  inquire  shortly  whether  this  view  is  sup- 
ported by  the  facts  of  human  development — that  is,  whether 
it  is  based  upon  the  solid  ground  of  nature  or  only  upon  an 
amiable  illusion.  That  will  be  our  task  in  the  following 
chapters.  Meanwhile  it  may  be  useful  to  indicate  some 
of  its  consequences  and  to  discount  some  misconceptions  to 
which  it  is  liable. 

Our  doctrine,  as  stated  crudely  above,  may  seem  to  permit 
no  discrimination  between  good  and  bad  ideals  of  life — 
between  forms  of  individuality  that  ought  to  be  encouraged 
and  forms  that  ought  to  be  suppressed.  Is  the  schoolmaster,  it 
may  be  asked,  to  foster  with  impartial  sympathy  the  making 
both  of  an  Emile  Pasteur  and  a  Cesare  Borgia  %  We  reply  that 


6      EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

the  ultimate  responsibility  of  a  child  for  himself  does  not  free 
the  others  from  responsibility  towards  him ;  an  educator  is  not 
to  foster  a  bad  life  on  the  ground  that  it  promises  to  achieve 
the  uniqueness  of  a  good  poem.  There  are  things  as  certainly 
destructive  of  the  soul  as  prussic  acid  is  of  the  body.  Life  is 
fenced  round  with  prohibitions  which  the  young  explorer  must 
not  be  allowed  to  ignore.  But  within  the  circle  thus  marked 
out  there  is  infinite  room  for  his  activity.  It  takes  all  sorts 
to  make  a  world,  and  the  world  becomes  richer  the  better  each 
becomes  after  his  own  kind.  Even  where  the  moral  law  is 
positive  and  not  merely  permissive,  obedience  may  take  forms 
endless  and  incalculable:  thus  a  motorist,  it  has  been  said, 
best  shows  his  love  for  his  neighbour  by  keeping  to  the  left 
of  the  road.  The  point  need  not  be  laboured.  It  is  manifest 
that  there  is  no  limit  to  the  number  of  life-patterns  into  which 
good  or  blameless  actions  may  be  woven,  and  that  it  is  im- 
possible to  formulate  in  advance  the  concrete  principle  of 
excellence  of  any  of  them. 

We  may  go  farther,  and  say  that  the  prudent  teacher  will 
take  care  not  to  multiply  his  prohibitions  beyond  necessity. 
Few  things  are  more  difficult  than  to  foresee  whether  a  new 
type  of  individuality,  a  new  form  of  expression  in  thought  or 
action,  will  ultimately  add  to  or  detract  from  the  real  riches  of 
the  world.  It  is  fatally  easy  to  condemn  as  contrary  to  beauty, 
truth,  orgoodness  what  merely  runs  counter  to  our  conservative 
prejudices.  We  know  how  often  in  the  past  men  have  sought 
to  suppress  the  creative  activity  whose  fruits  have  later  been 
seen  to  be  among  mankind's  greatest  treasures.  We  need  to 
remind  ourselves — teachers,  perhaps,  more  than  laymen — that 
these  "  old,  unhappy,  far-off  things  "  are  constantly  being 
repeated  and  paralleled,  now  in  trivial  instances,  now  in 
matters  of  serious  importance.  The  younger  of  this  generation 
have  seen  the  "  futurists  "  break  away  from  the  tradition  of 
painting — a  portent  met  here  with  ridicule,  there  with  anger, 
with  active  reprobation  all  round.    Their  elders  remember  that 


THE  AIM  OF  EDUCATION  7 

the  same  phenomena  attended  (how  incredible  it  is  1)  the 
emergence  of  Wagner  and  the  "  music  of  the  future."  And 
how  long  is  it  since  the  entrance  of  women  into  medical 
studies  shook  Victorian  England  to  the  very  foundations  of 
its  respectability  ?  E  pur  si  muove.  The  teacher  will  do  well, 
then,  always  to  have  in  mind  the  warning  of  Gamaliel1  and  to 
beware  lest  haply  he  should  be  found  to  fight  against  God.  In 
particular,  he  must  be  careful,  in  teaching  social  duties,  not  to 
seek  to  confine  his  pupils  to  the  purview  of  an  outworn  text. 
Social  obligations  can  be  discharged  in  an  infinite  number  of 
ways,  and  none  can  foresee  or  set  bounds  to  ^rhat  the  human 
spirit  may  do  in  this  as  in  all  other  directions.  A  daring  and 
powerful  soul  may  raise  the  whole  moral  quality  of  the  social 
structure  by  asserting  an  individuality  that  may  at  first  seem 
hostile  to  its  very  existence.  And  the  unheroic  soul,  too,  will 
best  serve  society  by  becoming  most  fully  and  truly  himself. 
In  short,  the  claims  of  society  upon  its  members  are  best 
satisfied,  not  when  each  is  made  as  like  his  fellows  as  possible, 
but  when,  in  Dr.  Bosanquet's  language,  "  he  values  himself  as 
the  inheritor  of  the  gifts  and  surroundings  that  are  focused 
in  him,  and  which  it  is  his  business  to  raise  to  their  highest 
power." 

The  reader  may  have  noticed  that  we  have  so  far  avoided 
a  very  difficult  question — namely,  whether  society  (or,  to  be 
preoise,  the  State)  may  not  at  times  of  crisis  demand  from  its 
members  services  that  entail  the  supersession,  even  the  final 
sacrifice,  of  their  individual  development,  and  whether  an 
affirmative  answer  would  not  greatly  weaken  the  general  force 
of  our  argument.  To  this  we  may  reply  that  mankind  is  not 
condemned  for  ever  to  endure  its  present  evils ;  if  there  is  a 
will  to  escape  from  them,  its  nobler  spirits  ("  Saluons  ces  genies 
futurs  1")  will  certainly  find  a  way.    But  if  it  is  lawful  to  dream 

1  Also,  perhaps,  the  aspiration  of  Anatole  France:  "  Esperons  dans  ces 
etres  inconcevables  qui  sortiront  un  jour  de  l'homme,  comme  l'homme  est 
sorti  de  la  brute.     Saluons  ces  genies  futurs !" — Le  Jardin  cT  Epicure. 


8      EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

of  a  world  in  which  the  good  of  all  would  be  much  more  nearly 
the  good  of  each  than  it  is  at  present,  it  is  lawful  to  do  whatever 
may  help  to  make  the  dream  reality.  What,  then,  could 
education  do  better  than  to  strengthen  men's  sense  of  the  worth 
of  individuality — their  own  and  others' — teaching  them  to 
esteem  the  individual  life,  not,  indeed,  as  a  private  possession, 
but  as  the  only  means  by  which  real  value  can  enter  the  world  ? 
In  this,  it  may  be  claimed,  is  the  strongest  bulwark  of  freedom 
and  the  firmest  guarantee  against  the  rule  of  violence. 

Some  who  are  satisfied  that  the  intentions  of  our  doctrine 
are  good  may  yet  doubt  whether  they  are  practicable.  Does  it 
not  require,  if  not  a  separate  school,  at  least  a  separate  curri- 
culum for  every  pupil  ?  Here  again  we  insist  that  we  do  not 
seek  to  change  the  unchangeable  conditions  of  human  exist- 
ence, but  merely  to  make  the  best  use  of  them.  Individuality 
develops  only  in  a  social  atmosphere  where  it  can  feed  on 
common  interests  and  common  activities.  All  we  demand 
is  that  it  shall  have  free  scope,  within  the  common  life,  to  grow 
in  its  own  way,  and  that  it  shall  not  be  warped  from  its  ideal 
bent  by  forces  "  heavy  as  frost  and  deep  almost  as  life." 
Under  such  conditions  some  boys  and  girls  will  show  themselves 
to  be  by  nature  secluded  and  cloistral  spirits,  and  it  is  to  the 
general  interest  that  they  should  be  allowed  to  be  so.1  But  the 
crowd  and  the  hero  have  such  potent  influence  that  few  are 
likely  in  their  development  to  wander  far  from  the  established 
types.  In  short,  individuality  is  by  no  means  the  same  thing 
as  eccentricity.  Teachers  are  not  called  upon  to  manufacture 
it  deliberately,  but  merely  to  let  it  grow  unimpeded  out  of  the 
materials  of  each  child's  nature,  fashioned  by  whatever  forces, 
strong  or  weak,  that  nature  may  include. 

It  is  the  common  boast  of  Englishmen  that  throughout 
their  history  they  have  clung  stubbornly  to  the  idea  of 

1  The  poet  Shelley  is  a  classic  example  of  a  type  poignantly  illustrated 
in  the  author  of  the  recently  published  "Diary  of  a  Dead  Officer."  Mis^ 
May  Sinclair  has  vividly  realized  it  in  one  of  the  characters  of  her  novel, 
"The  Tree  of  Heaven." 


THE  AIM  OF  EDUCATION  9 

individual  liberty  and  have  refused  to  exchange  it  for  any  more 
specious  but  delusive  good.  The  worst  charge  that  can  be 
brought  against  them  is  that  in  refusing  equal  liberty  to  others 
they  have  too  often  sinned  against  the  light  that  is  in  them. 
Upon  what  basis  does  that  historic  claim  to  liberty  rest  if  not 
upon  the  truth,  seen  darkly  by  some,  by  others  clearly 
envisaged,  that  freedom  for  each  to  conduct  life's  adventure 
in  his  own  way  and  to  make  the  best  he  can  of  it  is  the  one 
universal  ideal  sanctioned  by  nature  and  approved  by  reason; 
and  that  the  beckoning  gleams  of  other  ideals  are  but  broken 
lights  from  this  ?  Such  freedom  is,  in  truth,  the  condition, 
if  not  the  source,  of  all  the  higher  goods.  Apart  from  it  duty 
has  no  meaning,  self-sacrifice  no  value,  authority  no  sanction. 
It  offers  the  one  possible  foundation  for  a  brotherhood  of 
nations,  the  only  basis  upon  which  men  can  join  together  to 
build  the  city  of  God.  Hunger  for  it  is  the  secret  source  of 
much  of  the  restless  fever  of  our  age.  By  a  paradoxus  superb 
as  cruel,  millions  of  men  who  share  our  speech,  and  millions 
more  who  share  our  hopes,  have  given  up  theirown  claims  to  it, 
so  that  in  the  end  it  may  become  the  law  of  the  world.  For  if 
"  to  make  the  world  safe  for  democracy  "  means  not  this,  it 
can  mean  nothing  but  to  exchange  one  tyranny  for  another. 
Dare  we  take  a  lower,  and  can  we  find  a  higher,  ideal  to  be 
our  inspiration  and  guide  in  education  ? 

NOTES  ON  BOOKS,  ETC. 

John  Adams,  "The  Evolution  of  Educational  Theory"  (Macmillan, 
1912),  gives  the  most  comprehensive  and  illuminating  review  of  the  subject. 
M.  W.  Keatinge,  "  Studies  in  Education"  (Black,  1916),  contains  an  acute 
criticism  of  educational  aims.  J.  Weltox,  What  do  we  mean  by  Educa- 
tion ?"  (Macmillan,  1915),  develops  the  relation  between  educational  theory 
and  ideals  of  life.  Two  volumes  in  the  Home  University  Library  (Williams 
and  Norgate)  give,  with  bibliographical  references,  a  clear  account  of  the 
movements  associated  in  the  text  with  Hobbes  and  Hegel:  G.  P.  Gooch, 
"Political  Thought  from  Bacon  to  Halifax,"  and  E.  Barker,  "Political 
Thought  from  Spencer  to  To-day."  The  Hegelian  position  is  brilliantly 
criticized  in  L.  T.  Hobhouse,  ".The  Metaphysical  Theory  of  the  State" 
(Allen  and  Unwin,  1918).  It  receives  a  more  friendly  treatment  in  Muir- 
head  and  Hetherinqton,  "Social  Purpose"  (Allen  and  Unwin,  1918). 


CHAPTER  II 

LIFE   AND  INDIVIDUALITY 

The  central  notion  of  the  last  chapter  may  be  compressed  into 
an  aphorism :  Individuality  is  the  ideal  of  Life.  To  call  it  an 
ideal  implies  that  it  is  at  once  a  goal  of  effort  and  a  standard 
by  which  the  success  of  the  effort  may  be  judged ;  also  that  it 
is  something  that  may  be  approached  indefinitely  yet  never 
reached.    What  is,  then,  its  precise  character  ? 

To  answer  that  question  it  will  be  helpful  to  develop  farther 
the  comparison  (p.  5)  between  a  man's  life  and  a  work  of  art. 
For  every  one  will  agree,  on  the  one  hand,  that  individuality 
is  in  some  sense  the  goal  and  standard  of  aesthetic  creation, 
and,  on  the  other  hand,  that  the  individuality  of  a  poem,  a 
sonata,  a  picture,  a  statue,  is  a  partial  expression  of  the  artist's 
own.  It  is  not  difficult,  therefore,  to  see  that  aesthetic  activity 
shows,  in  a  peculiarly  concentrated  and  energetic  form, 
characters  that  actually  belong  to  life  in  all  its  modes  of 
expression. 

The  more  prominent  of  those  characters  are  easily  recog- 
nized. In  the  first  place,  the  artist  strives  to  express  through 
his  materials  a  single  scheme,  in  which  the  elements,  however 
diverse  in  nature,  have  each  its  place,  not  accidental  or  irrele- 
vant, but  necessary  and  meaningful.  He  succeeds  in  so  far 
as  he  can  impose  upon  them  this  "  unity  in  diversity  " ;  he  fails 
in  so  far  as  they  break  from  his  control.  In  the  second  place, 
aesthetic  creation  is  autonomous.  This  does  not  mean  that  a 
poet  is  independent  of  grammar  and  logic,  that  a  musician 
need  not  regard  the  natural  properties  of  chords  and  progres- 

10 


LIFE  AND  INDIVIDUALITY  11 

sions,  or  a  painter  the  form  and  structure  of  his  model.  But 
it  does  mean  that  there  is  no  external  law  determining  before- 
hand the  use  he  may  make  of  these  things.  Eighteenth- 
century  critics  censured  the  "  incorrectness  "  of  Shakespeare, 
but  a  wiser  generation  recognizes  that  the  plays  have  a  logic 
of  their  own  which  can  be  judged  only  by  its  results.1 

To  speak  of  individuality  as  the  ideal  of  life  implies,  then, 
that  life  as  a  whole  is  autonomous  and  that  it  constantly 
strives  after  unity.  Upon  the  first  point  we  have  already  said 
enough  in  the  preceding  chapter ;  we  need  add  only  that  auto- 
nomy, as  defined  above,  is  the  essence  of  man's  "  freedom  " 
as  a  self-determining  agent.  The  statement  that  man's  will 
is  free  is  ridiculous  if  understood  as  a  claim  that  he  can  escape 
from  the  laws  of  his  own  nature ;  but  it  is  sound  sense  when 
understood  as  extending  to  the  whole  of  life  the  obvious  truth 
that  it  is  impossible  to  invent  a  machine  before  it  is  invented  or 
to  compose  a  sonata  before  it  is  composed. 

The  second  point  could  be  illustrated  in  a  thousand  ways 
from  every  phase  of  human  life.  Unity  in  diversity  is,  for 
instance,  the  clear  mark  of  all  purposive  actions,  from  (say) 
the  skilled  handling  of  knife  and  fork  in  eating  a  chop  to  the 
world-wide  operations  of  a  Napoleon  of  finance.  Again,  it  is 
the  mark  of  all  knowledge,  from  the  power  to  "  perceive  " 
objects  and  events,  such  as  tables  and  chairs  and  the  move- 
ments of  taxi-cabs,2  to  the  power  to  understand  the  behaviour 
of  a  planet  or  a  system  of  metaphysics.  This  unity,  whether 
shown  in  action  or  in  understanding,  is  always  a  partial  ex- 
pression of  the  individual's  unity,  and  is  felt  by  him  as  a  pulse 
of  the  energy  which  is  the  very  stuff  of  his  life.    And  that  it 

1  Similarly,  an  inventor  must,  of  course,  take  account  of  the  properties 
of  his  materials  and  the  laws  of  physics,  but  no  one  can  prescribe  the  use 
he  is  to  make  of  them.  To  do  so  would  be  to  invent  the  machine  before  it  ia 
invented.  (Of.  Bosanquet,  "The  Principle  of  Individuality  and  Value," 
p.  331.) 

2  Whenever,  for  example,  I  recognize  an  object  as  a  chair,  a  great  number 
of  very  different  former  experiences  contribute  to  the  present  experience 
and  help  to  give  it  its  character. 


12    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

extends,  potentially,  to  the  whole  of  life  is  shown  by  the  fas- 
cination of  any  well  told  biography  in  which  the  writer  brings 
out  the  unity  which  his  subject's  life  strove  after,  and  shows 
where  and  how  it  was  broken  and  frustrated.  Needless  to 
say,  the  art  of  the  novel  and  the  drama  draws  largely  from  the 
same  source  of  interest. 

We  have  undertaken  (p.  5)  to  seek  a  scientific  basis  for 
this  view  of  life,  and  must  now  proceed  to  fix  the  general 
lines  of  our  inquiry.    But  before  we  can  do  so,  a  very  difficult 
question  must  be  faced  and  answered.     What  we  have  said 
about  individuality  has  been  applied,  so  far,  only  to  man's 
conscious  nature  or  "  mind";  but  reflection  will  show  that 
it  can  be  said  with  equal  truth  about  his  body,  and,  indeed, 
about  the  bodies  of  all  animals  and  even  about  plants.    For, 
from  the  first  division  of  the  fertilized  egg,  bodily  growth 
suggests  everywhere  the  unfolding  of  a  unitary  plan,  or  the 
concerted  action  of  individuals  who  thoroughly  understand 
one  another  and  have  devoted  themselves  to  a  common  pur- 
pose.1   Thus  the  history  of  the  bodily  organs  may  be  likened 
to  the  parts  of  a  piece  of  polyphonic  music  wherein  each  pur- 
sues its  own  melodic  course,  yet  takes  account  all  the  time 
of  the  other  parts  and  of  the  musical  whole  they  are  conspiring 
to  realize.    And  in  growing  to  its  final  form  the  body  seems 
to  show  only  in  a  less  degree  than  the  mind  the  same  quality 
of  self-determination.2    It  seems  clear,  then,  that  whatever 
explanation  we  give  of  the  broad  facts  of  life  must  apply, 
in  principle,  equally  to  body  and  to  mind.    Hence  the  ques- 
tion: Are  we,  since  our  bodies  are  "  matter,"  to  seek  in  physi- 
cal laws  an  explanation  for  the  whole  of  life ;  or  are  we,  since 
our  bodies  are  alive,  to  interpret  their  activities  by  what  we 
know  of  life  where  its  character  appears  in  the  highest 

1  Of.  "Die  Pflanze  bildet  Zellen,  aicht  die  Zelle  bildet  Pflanzen"  (De 
Bary).  "  Each  part  acts  as  if  it  knew  what  the  other  parts  are  doing  " 
(Nageli).     (Quoted  by  T.  H.  Morgan.) 

2  We  have,  in  fact,  borrowed  the  term  "autonomy"  from  the  biologist 
Hans  Driesch,  who  applies  it  in  this  sense  to  the  facts  of  morphogenesis. 


LIFE  AND  INDIVIDUALITY  13 

and   clearest  form — namely,   in  the  conscious  life   of  the 
mind  ? 

The  urgency  of  the  question  lies  in  the  fact  that  men  of 
science,  and  particularly  physiologists,  generally  seek  to  inter- 
pret the  life  of  the  body  entirely  in  terms  oi  facts  and  notions 
derived  from  physics  and  chemistry.  This  tendency  (or  preju- 
dice) is  natural.  The  ultimate  elements  of  the  body  are  the 
familiar  chemical  elements,  carbon,  hydrogen,  nitrogen,  and 
the  rest,  combined  in  forms  which  can  often  be  reproduced  in 
the  laboratory ;  the  water  of  the  body  is  ordinary  water1  and 
behaves  as  such;  the  oxygen  we  breathe  does  the  usual  work 
of  oxygen,  breaking  down  compounds  and  setting  free  heat; 
the  net  heat-value  of  food  consumed  is  precisely  equal  to  the 
heat-value  of  the  mechanical  work  the  body  performs,  just 
as  it  is  in  the  steam-engine  or  petrol-motor.  Immersed  in 
discoveries  of  this  order,  and  seeing  their  number  daily  in- 
creased, it  is  not  surprising  that  physiologists  come  to  think 
of  the  body  as  nothing  but  an  exceedingly  complicated  physico- 
chemical  machine.  Theirs  is,  in  fact,  essentially  the  view  of 
Descartes  which  made  so  much  stir  in  the  seventeenth  century 
— namely,  that  man  might  be  regarded  as  only  a  very  cun- 
ningly fashioned  automaton  if  we  did  not  know  from  inner 
experience  that  he  has  a  soul. 

Descartes  did  not  shrink — at  least  in  theory — from  the 
deduction  that  where,  as  in  the  case  of  other  animals,  direct 
knowledge  of  a  soul  is  impossible,  we  need  not  suppose  the 
creature  to  be  anything  more  than  a  beie-machine.  Thus  (he 
would  have  said)  the  cry  uttered  by  a  beaten  dog  is  an  event 
essentially  of  the  same  order  as  the  emission  of  sound  bya  bell, 
and  no  logic  compels  us  to  ascribe  it  to  pain.  No  modern 
biologists  would  go  so  far  as  that,  at  least  where  the  higher 
animals  are  concerned;  but  their  scruples  necessarily  bring 

1  It  is  even  maintained  that  the  aqueous  solution  which  forms  the 
basis  of  the  blood-plasm  has  the  composition  of  the  ancient  seas  wherein 
life  probably  began. 


14    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

them  face  to  face  with  an  awkward  dilemma.  Either  mental 
facts  belong  to  a  distinct  province  of  being  whose  connection 
with  physiological  facts  must  be  for  ever  inscrutable,  or  else 
they,  too,  are  reducible  somehow  to  facts  of  physics  and 
chemistry. 

Most  advocates  of  the  "  mechanistic  conception  of  life  " 
elect,  prudently,  if  uaheroically,  the  former  course;1  but  there 
are  bolder  spirits  who  do  not  shrink  from  the  latter.  Of  these 
Dr.  Jacques  Loeb  is  at  present  the  most  thorough-going  and 
daring  representative.  His  experiments  on  artificial  fertiliza- 
tion, on  the  artificially  directed  growth  of  animals,  and  on  the 
"  tropistic  "  factors  in  instinct,  are  undoubtedly  most  im- 
pressive. They  have  given  him  the  hope — perhaps  we  must 
not  call  it  a  pious  hope — that  a  physico-chemical  explanation 
will  be  found  in  time  for  all  the  "  wishes  and  hopes,  efforts  and 
struggles,  .  .  .  disappointments  and  sufferings  "  that  form 
"  the  contents  of  life  from  the  cradle  to  the  bier." 

Meanwhile,  psychologists,  who  do  not  welcome  the  annex- 
ation of  mental  facts  by  physics  and  chemistry,  have  been 
hard  put  to  it  to  formulate  a  view  which  shall  at  once  satisfy 
the  just  claims  of  those  sciences  and  preserve  the  prerogative 
position  of  mind  in  life.  For  Descartes  sundered  body  and 
mindso  effectivelythat  hewas  himself  unable,  except  byamost 
unconvincing  tour  deforce,  to  bring  them  together  again;  and 
he  left  the  problem  practically  insoluble  for  his  successors. 
Most  of  them  have  been  driven,  therefore,  to  a  position  which 
answers  almost  completely  to  that  of  the  less  intransigent 
mechanists .  In  brief,  they  treat  the  mind,  or,  rather, ' '  experi- 
ence "  as  if  it  were  a  self-contained  field  of  events  and  causation 
which  has  some  inscrutable  connection  with  bodily  events, 
but  plays  no  part  in  determining  them.  To  hold  this 
view — in  the  form  called  the  "doctrine  of  psycho-physical 

1  For  a  statement  of  this  position  see  D'Arcy  Thompson's  brilliant 
article  in  the  volume  "Finite  Life  and  Individuality,"  edited  by  Wildon 
Carr  (Williams  and  Norgate,  1919). 


LIFE  AND  INDIVIDUALITY  15 

parallelism  " — has  long  been,  and  perhaps  still  is,  orthodoxy 
in  psychology. 

But  the  labours  of  an  increasing  company  of  workers  seem 
to  promise  an  end  to  this  unhappy  divorce  between  the  sciences 
of  body  and  of  mind.  We  may  take  the  work  of  Professor  H.  S. 
Jennings  of  Pennsylvania  University  as  typical  of  them.  This 
writer,  like  most  of  his  school,  has  directed  his  studies  chiefly 
to  the  behaviour  of  the  lower  organisms.  Here,  if  anywhere, 
it  should  be  possible  to  analyze  life  into  chemical  and  physical 
reactions,  and  Jennings'  earlier  researches  were  definitely 
guided  by  the  mechanistic  conception.1 

But  after  long  familiarity  with  the  ways  of  these  lowly 
creatures  he  was  forced  to  the  conclusion  that  physics  and 
chemistry  are  insufficient  to  explain  even  the  simplest  forms 
of  animal  life.  The  animal's  life  is,  of  course,  permeated  (as 
human  physiology  is)  by  chemical  and  physical  factors ;  but 
just  as  a  poem,  though  permeated  by  grammar,  is  more  than 
a  sum  of  grammatical  expressions,  so  the  behaviour,  even  of  a 
protozoan,  escapes  beyond  the  conception  of  aphysico-chemical 
machine.    In  short,  the  humblest  creature  is  autonomous. 

The  facts  that  converted  Jennings  to  this  view  may  be 
illustrated  by  some  of  his  observations  on  the  stentor — a  single- 
celled,  trumpet-shaped  inf  usorian  that  dwells  in  marshy  pools, 
attached  to  a  water-plant  or  bit  of  debris,  surrounds  the  lower 
end  of  its  body  by  a  translucent  tube  into  which  it  can  with- 
draw at  need,  and  lives  by  agitating  the  cilia  round  the  disc 
that  (nearly)  closes  its  trumpet  and  so  whipping  up  vortices 
which  carry  food-particles  into  its  mouth.  When  a  stream 
of  water  containing  carmine  impinges  against  its  disc,  the 
stentor  will  at  first  drive  the  particles  in  the  usual  way  into 
its  mouth,  but  very  soon  begins  to  twist  on  its  stalk  and  bend 
its  trumpet  away  from  the  intrusive  cloud.  If  several  repeti- 
tions of  this  movement  do  not  relieve  it  from  the  presence  of 

1  This  phase  of  his  work  is  represented  by  the  citations  in  the  first  chapter 
of  Professor  C.  Lloyd  Morgan's  "  Animal  Behaviour." 


16    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

the  irritant,  another  reaction  is  tried;  the  ciliary  movement 
is  suddenly  reversed,  so  that  the  particles  are  now  thrown  off 
the  disc.  If  this  manoeuvre  also  fails,  the  animal  contracts 
into  its  tube,  remains  there  for  about  half  a  minute,  then  again 
emerges,  unfolds  its  disc,  and  begins  once  more  to  move  its 
cilia  in  the  normal  direction.  A  most  interesting  question 
now  arises.  The  original  conditions  being  restored,  will  the 
original  sequence  of  reactions  be  repeated  ?  The  answer  is 
definitely,  No.  As  soon  as  the  carmine  reaches  it,  the  stentor 
at  once  withdraws  into  its  tube  for  a  while,  and  cominues  to  do 
so,  remaining  for  a  longer  period  each  time,  as  often  as,  on 
re-emerging,  it  receives  the  particles  upon  its  disc.  Finally, 
it  forces  itself  free  from  its  attachment  by  violent  contractions, 
quits  its  tube,  and  swims  away  to  resume  the  business  of  life 
elsewhere. 

In  describing  these  "  reactions  "  it  is  difficult  to  avoid 
using  terms  one  would  employ  without  risk  of  censure  in 
speaking  of  the  analogous  behaviour  of  a  higher  animal,  such 
as  a  dog  or  a  man.  One  is  almost  irresistibly  tempted  to  say 
that  this  minute  creature,  after  trying  in  vain  all  the  minor 
devices  at  its  disposal  for  getting  rid  of  an  annoying  intrusion, 
adopts  in  despair  the  last  resort  of  flight  from  an  intolerable 
situation.  In  fact,  viewed  from  without,  the  behaviour  of  the 
infusorian  and  the  behaviour  of  the  mammal  would  seem  to 
differ  only  in  details,  not  at  all  in  principle.  And  this  im- 
pression has  become  the  more  firmly  established  in  the  minds 
of  many  cautious  and  highly  experienced  observers  the  more 
they  have  studied  the  ways  of  these  lowly  creatures.  Thus 
Jennings  suggests  that  if  the  amoeba — a  tiny  speck  of  living 
slime,  without  limbs  or  organs  or  even  a  definite  form — were 
large  enough  to  come  within  men's  ordinary  ken,  they  would 
regard  it  as  u  controlled  by  the  same  elemental  impulses  as 
higher  beasts  of  prey."  Moreover,  he  subscribes  to  the 
opinion,  expressed  by  Dr.  Raymond  Pearl  with  regard  to 
rather  higher  animals  (the  planaria)  that  "it  is  almost  an 


LIFE  AND  INDIVIDUALITY  17 

absolute  necessity  that  one  should  become  familiar,  or  perhaps 
better,  intimate  with  an  organism,  so  that  he  knows  it  in  some- 
what the  same  way  that  he  knows  a  person,  before  he  can  get 
even  an  approximation  of  the  truth  regarding  its  behaviour." 

These  biological  studies  give  one  a  lively  sense  of  a  solidarity 
in  nature  running  through  the  wholegamut  of  animalexistence. 
They  teach  us  that  all  animals,  from  the  amoeba  upwards,  are 
centres  of  energy,  in  constant  dynamical  relations  with  the 
world,  yet  confronting  it  in  a  characteristic  attitude  of  inde- 
pendence. Each  one  in  its  own  way  "  does  trade  with  time 
and  has  commerce  with  circumstance,"  shaping  its  course  in 
accordance  with  its  nature  and  its  powers,  and  developing 
in  its  traffic  with  its  world  an  individuality,  rudimentary  or 
complex,  whose  ways  cannot  be  foreseen  unless  one  knows  it 
"  in  somewhat  the  same  way  that  he  knows  a  person."  In 
short,  stupendous  as  the  distance  is  between  the  lives  of  the 
protozoan  and  the  creature  who  has  been  made  a  little  lower 
than  the  angels,  it  consists — like  the  difference  between  a 
village  church  and  a  cathedral — not  in  any  radical  unlikeness 
of  the  essential  features,  but  rather  in  the  differing  richness, 
variety  and  subtlety  of  the  details  in  which  a  single  scheme 
has  been  worked  out  at  different  evolutionary  levels. 

But  while  we  emphasize  the  fundamental  identity  of  all 
animal  life,  we  must  not  fail  to  appreciate  the  enormous 
differences  in  the  degree  of  "perfection"  it  achieves  at  its 
widely-sundered  levels.  On  the  lower  levels  the  animal's 
intercourse  with  the  world  is  narrowly  limited  in  range .  E  ven 
when,  as  in  the  sea-anemone,  definite  "  receptors,"  that  is, 
specially  sensitive  cells,  are  developed  in  the  creature's  surface, 
commerce  with  the  environment  is  mediated  at  first  only  by 
direct  contact  or  chemical  action.  At  a  higher  level "  distance 
receptors"  are  added,  that  is,  cells  sensitive  to  such  agencies 
as  light  and  sound.  Transactions  of  a  vastly  greater  range 
and  complexity  now  become  possible,  and  with  them  a  much 
higher  degree  of  individuality.    Finally  we  reach  in  man  a 

2 


18    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

being  who  can  shape  his  course  by  reference  to  the  impalpable 
and  invisible  objects  of  the  intellect,  can  look  before  and  after, 
and  must  nourish  his  life  with  spiritual  as  well  as  material 
realities.  How  far  down  the  scale  of  being  receptors  are,  in 
the  proper  sense  of  the  term,  sense-organs,  it  is  impossible 
to  say.  Judging  from  what  we  know  of  the  lower  strata  of 
our  own  organism,  we  may  well  suppose  their  activity  in  such 
creatures  as  the  stentor  to  be  utterly  unconscious.  But  some- 
where in  the  phylogenetic  history  the  stimulation  of  receptors 
must  have  begun  to  be  the  occasion  of  a  "  dim  sentience  " 
which  was  to  develop  in  time  into  man's  clear  awareness  of  an 
ordered  world  about  him.  And  in  whatever  guise  experience 
thus  emerged,  we  must  believe  that  it  came,  not  as  a  super- 
fluity, or  as  something  disconnected  with  what  went  before, 
but  as  a  means  of  widening  and  enriching  the  sphere  of  vital 
activities — a  means  of  raising  individuality,  so  to  speak,  to 
still  higher  powers. 

Upon  this  view  man  is  not  to  be  conceived  as  Descartes 
conceived  him,  namely,  as  an  automaton  plus  a  soul,  or,  with 
Epictetus,  as  a  ghost  bearing  a  corpse.  He  is,  through  and 
through,  a  single  organism,  a  "  body-mind,"  the  latest  term 
of  an  evolutionary  process  in  which  living  substance  has  de- 
veloped ever  higher  and  more  subtle  functions.  This  view  is 
as  remote  as  possible  from  materialism;  for  though  it  invites 
the  physiologist  to  push  as  far  as  he  can  his  physico-chemical 
analysis,  it  refuses  to  regard  perception  and  thought,  feeling 
and  will,  as  superfluous  additions  to  a  machine  that  would  be 
complete  without  them.  It  preserves  to  the  psychical  all 
that  ethics  and  religion  require.  It  spiritualizes  the  body; 
it  does  not  materialize  the  soul. 

To  sum  up  the  discussion :  Of  the  alternative  ways  of  inter- 
preting life  (p.  12),  the  second  is  emphatically  the  one  to  be 
followed.  Starting  from  the  position  that  there  is  more  than 
physics  and  chemistry  even  in  the  humblest  animal,  it  comes 
to  view  the  history  of  life  as  a  striving  towards  the  individuality 


LIFE  AND  INDIVIDUALITY  19 

which  is  expressed  most  clearly  and  richly  in  man's  conscious 
nature,  and  finds,  therefore,  in  that  goal  towards  which  the 
whole  creation  moves  the  true  interpretation  of  its  earlier 
efforts. 

From  that  view  two  important  consequences  immediately 
follow.  One  is  that  the  criterion  of  educational  effort  laid 
down  provisionally  in  the  first  chapter  is  justified  by  a  sound 
reading  of  biological  facts;  for  the  education  that  aims  at 
fostering  individuality  is  the  only  education  "  according  to 
nature."  The  other  is  that  to  limit  the  idea  of  individuality 
to  the  things  of  the  mind  is  to  take  far  too  narrow  a  view  of 
its  scope.  Individuality  is  an  affair  of  the  whole  organism 
or  "  body-mind."  The  process  we  see  shaping  itself  in  the 
mind  of  a  boy  or  girl  is  only  the  highest  aspect  of  a  process 
that  actually  involves  the  whole  being,  and  includes  move- 
ments that  go  back  to  pre-human  days  and  even  to  the  dateless 
beginnings  of  life.  For  a  child  is  in  literal  truth  the  heir  of  the 
ages;  he  carries  his  inheritance,  living,  in  his  organism,  and 
his  individuality  is  what  he  ultimately  makes  of  it. 

Of  the  writers  who,  with  clear  awareness  of  its  import, 
have  followed  our  method  in  modern  times,  one  of  the  first 
and  most  notable  was  Samuel  Butler,  the  author  of  "  Ere- 
whon,"  who  upheld  it  as  a  criticism  of  what  he  regarded, 
perhaps  with  imperfect  justice,  as  the  mechanistic  heresy  of 
Charles  Darwin.  Butler  argued,  for  instance,  that  the  facts 
of  habit,  of  physical  growth,  of  physiological  functioning,  of 
instinct,  of  heredity,  can  be  understood  only  if  we  regard  them 
as  a  group  of  phenomena  whose  typical  character  is  ex- 
pressed most  clearly  in  memory — most  clearly  there,  because 
in  memory  we  are  directly  conscious  that  the  past  is  reassert- 
ing itself  in  the  present.  Following  the  principle  that  the  less 
well  known  should  be  explained  in  terms  of  the  better  known, 
Butler  boldly  maintained  that  they  should  all  be  ascribed 
to  the  operation  of  "  unconscious  memory."    Similarly  he 


20    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

suggested  that  the  emergence  in  history  of  such  a  limb  as  the 
crab's  claw  can  be  understood  only  if  regarded  as  due  to  an 
unconscious  factor  entirely  homologous  with  conscious  human 
invention ;  the  pincers  which  the  carpenter  uses  for  the  same 
kind  of  purpose  being,  in  fact,  only  a  detachable  limb,  just 
as  the  claw  is  a  permanently  attached  tool. 

Butler's  whimsical  and  malicious  genius  always  prompted 
him  so  to  phrase  his  arguments  as  to  shake  men  most  rudely 
out  of  their  dogmatic  slumber.  Even  the  reader  whose  mind 
has  been  prepared  by  the  preceding  pages  may  be  startled 
by  the  thought  that  the  father  of  all  crabs  "  invented  "  his 
pincer-claws  and  that  his  descendants  continue  to  grow  them 
because  they  "  remember  "  that  their  forefathers  have  always 
done  so.  The  phrases  "  unconscious  invention  "  and  "  un- 
conscious memory  "  contain,  in  fact,  a  contradiction  which 
makes  such  statements  seem  grossly  paradoxical.  It  will  be 
useful,  therefore,  to  substitute  for  them  terms  which  may  be 
employed  to  do  justice  to  Butler's  facts  without  awaking 
divergent  associations. 

In  the  first  place,  then,  we  need  a  name  for  the  funda- 
mental property  expressed  in  the  incessant  adjustments  and 
adventures  that  make  up  the  tissue  of  life.  We  are  directly 
aware  of  that  property  in  our  conscious  activities  as  an  element 
of  "  drive,"  "  urge,"  or  felt  tendency  towards  an  end.  Psycho- 
logists call  it  conation  and  give  the  name  conative  process  to 
any  train  of  conscious  activity  which  is  dominated  by  such  a 
drive  and  receives  from  it  the  characters  of  unity  in  diversity 
and  what  Dr.  Bosanquet  has  called  "  coherent  adaptiveness 
and  progressiveness."  For  instance,  the  reader's  endeavour 
to  understand  the  present  sentence  is  a  conative  process  in 
which  a  relatively  complex  system  of  mental  acts  moves 
towards  a  more  or  less  clearly  envisaged  end. 

Now,  although  the  behaviour  of  the  stentor  described  on 
pp.  15-16  is  essentially  of  the  same  character  as  this,  we  must 
hesitate  to  ascribe  it  to  conation,  for  we  have  no  good  reason 


LIFE  AND  INDIVIDUALITY  21 

to  suppose  that  the  creature  is  conscious  either  of  the  carmine 
or  of  the  end  to  which  his  movements  are  directed.  And  it  is 
here  important  to  observe  that  even  reading,  unquestionably 
a  conative  process,  involves  movements  and  adjustments  of 
the  eyes  which,  being  unconscious,  cannot  be  ascribed  to 
conation,  though  they  have  the  same  general  character  as 
conative  processes.  For  the  reader's  eye  does  not,  like  his 
spectacles,  function  merely  as  an  optical  instrument ;  its  be- 
haviour is  the  purposive  behaviour  of  a  living  organ  which 
enjoys,  within  the  empire  of  the  organism,  a  certain  measure 
of  responsible  autonomy.  Moreover,  while  the  reader's 
mind  is  pursuing  the  printed  argument,  his  neuro-muscular 
mechanisms  are  keeping  his  head  aloft  upon  his  shoulders, 
his  digestive  glands  are  dealing  with  his  latest  meal,  his  phago- 
cytes are,  perhaps,  wrestling  quietly  with  an  invasion  of  the 
bacilli  of  influenza.  None  of  these  purposive  processes  may 
be  called  conative,  for  they  lie  below,  and  even  far  below,  the 
conscious  level ;  yet  a  supra-human  spectator,  who  could  watch 
our  mental  behaviour  in  the  same  direct  way  as  we  can  observe 
physical  events,  would  see  them  all  as  instances  of  the  same 
class,  variant  in  detail  but  alike  (as  we  have  said)  in  general 
plan.  In  other  words,  he  would  see  that  they  all  differ  from 
purely  mechanical  processes  by  the  presence  of  an  internal 
"  drive,"  and  differ  from  one  another  only  in  the  material  in 
which  the  drive  works  and  the  character  of  the  ends  towards 
which  it  is  directed. 

To  this  element  of  drive  or  urge,  whether  it  occurs  in  the 
conscious  life  of  men  and  the  higher  animals,  or  in  the  uncon- 
scious activities  of  their  bodies  and  the  (presumably)  uncon- 
scious behaviour  of  lower  animals,  we  propose  to  give  a 
single  name — horme  (opfxr)).1  In  accordance  with  this  pro-  \ 
posal  all  the  purposive  processes  of  the  organism  are  hormic 
processes,  conative  processes  being  the  sub-class  whose  I 
members  have  the  special  mark  of  being  conscious. 

1  This  term  is  not  altogether  a  neologism.     It  is  used  in  a  kindred  sense 
by  some  recent  writers  on  psychology. 


22    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

Similarly  we  shall  bring  together  under  a  common  designa- 
tion all  the  varied  phenomena  referred  by  Butler  to  memory, 
conscious  or  unconscious.  Following  the  German  biologist 
Richard  Semon,  we  shall  speak  of  such  phenomena  as  mnemic 
and  shall  give  the  name  mneme  (^wv)  to  the  property 
of  living  substance  which  they  exemplify.  Memory,  then,  is 
conscious  mneme  just  as  conation  is  conscious  bonne. 

In  the  task  of  analyzing  in  outline  the  development  of  the 
human  individual  the  concepts  of  horme  and  mneme  will  be 
our  constant  guides.  It  will  be  well,  therefore,  to  begin  our 
investigation  with  a  somewhat  fuller  inquiry  into  the  nature 
and  the  forms  assumed  by  these  fundamental  aspects  or 
factors  of  vital  activities.  That  inquiry  will  occupy  us  in 
the  next  three  chapters. 

NOTES  ON  BOOKS,  ETC. 

B.  Bosanqtjet,  "The  Principle  of  Individuality  and  Value"  and  "The 
Value  and  Destiny  of  the  Individual"  (Macmillan,  1912,  1913),  contain 
a  masterly  treatment  of  individuality  from  the  neo-Hegelian  standpoint. 
J.  Loeb,  ' '  The  Mechanistic  Conception  of  Life  "  (Cambridge  University  Press, 
1912).  H.  S.  Jenning's  views  are  quoted  from  his  "  Behaviour  of  Lower 
Organisms"  (Macmillan,  1906).  Hans  Driesch's  views  are  conveniently 
summarized  in  "The  Problem  of  Individuality"  (Macmillan,  1914). 
Samuel  Butler's  doctrine  is  set  out  in  his  "Life  and  Habit"  and  "Un- 
conscious Memory"  (Fifield,  newed.,  1910),  and  has  been  recently  reasserted 
with  much  power  in  A.  D.  Darbishire,  "An  Introduction  to  a  Biology" 
(Cassell,  1917).  For  the  general  position  taken  up  in  Chapter  II.  see  L.  T. 
Hobhocse,  "Development  and  Purpose"  (Macmillan,  1913)  and  the 
writings  of  Professor  S.  Alexander,  especially  his  forthcoming  Gifford 
Lectures,  "  Space,  Time  and  Deity."  In  several  respects  it  was — as  Pro- 
fessor John  Adams  has  kindly  pointed  out  to  the  author — anticipated  in 
E.  Beneke,  "  Lehrbuch  der  Psychologic"  (1833).  J.  A.  Thomson, 
"  Secrets  of  Animal  Life  "  (Melrose,  1919),  contains  several  charming  essays 
bearing  upon  the  subject  of  this  chapter. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE   WILL  TO   LIVE 

Horme,  as  we  have  defined  the  term,  is  the  basis  of  the  activi- 
ties that  differentiate  the  living  animal  from  dead  matter  and, 
therefore,  of  what  we  have  described  as  the  animal's  character- 
istic attitude  of  independence  towards  its  world.  The  sense 
in  which  "  independence  "  is  used  here  needs  elucidation. 
No  creature  is  independent  of  its  world  in  the  sense  that  it 
could  exist  apart  from  it ;  prevented  from  assimilating  matter 
from  the  environment  in  the  form  of  food,  it  would  soon  cease 
to  live.  We  may  go  farther,  and  admit  that  the  intimacy 
of  the  relations  between  a  living  organism  and  its  environment 
is,  as  Dr.  J.  S.  Haldane  has  pointed  out,  one  of  the  main  differ- 
ences between  it  and  a  mere  machine.  Matter  from  the  en- 
vironment is  constantly  flowing  into  and  out  of  the  organism, 
being,  in  Dr.  Haldane's  vigorous  phrase,  only  for  a  while 
"  caught  up  in  the  whirl  "  of  its  bodily  structure.  And  the 
same  is  true  of  an  organism's  psychical  activities,  which  could 
neither  develop  nor  be  sustained  unless  it  were  in  constant 
intercourse  with  the  world  about  it.  For  instance,  a  great 
part  of  a  man's  psychical  activity  is  evidently  dependent  upon 
intercourse  with  his  fellows  and  would  perish  if  he  were  iso- 
lated. Thus  it  may  be  said  that  the  texture  of  man's  mind, 
like  that  of  his  body,  consists  in  what  is  from  time  to  time 
"  caught  up  in  the  whirl  "  of  its  structure  in  perception,  in 
thought,  in  all  the  acts  involved  in  the  common  social  life. 
Nevertheless,  every  animal,  so  long  as  it  is  alive,  continues 
to  affirm  or  assert  itself  over  against  the  world  of  which,  from 

23 


24      EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

another  point  of  view,  it  is  merely  a  part.  Even  the  least 
"  assertive  "  of  us  must  recognize  that  this  attitude  belongs 
to  every  moment  of  our  conscious  lives.  In  every  act  we 
say  to  our  world,  openly  or  implicitly,  "  I  am  here  and  to  be 
reckoned  with;  I  go  a  way  that  is,  so  far  as  may  be,  my  own 
way  and  not  merely  yours."  And  our  bodies  say  the  same 
thing  after  their  own  manner.  Throughout  the  whole  range 
of  life  this  attitude  prevails,  from  the  amoeba,  in  which  it  is 
but  a  bare,  unconscious  "will  to  live,"  to  man,  who  con- 
sciously claims  a  share  in  the  moulding  of  his  own  destiny. 

Speaking  broadly,  we  may  say  that  the  self-affirmation  or 
self-assertion  of  the  organism  in  the  face  of  its  world  is  shown 
in  activities  of  two  types,  conservative  and  creative.  The 
distinction  is  a  familiar  one.  On  the  bodily  level  it  corre- 
sponds to  the  difference  between  the  adult,  whose  features, 
figure  and  constitution  have  reached  a  settled  and  relatively 
stable  form,  and  the  stripling,  who,  in  all  these  respects,  is 
fluent  and  progressive.  On  the  psychical  level  it  is  the  differ- 
ence between  old-fogeyism,  with  its  attachment  to  old  habits, 
old  friends,  old  books  and  old  stories,  and  eager  youth  hurry- 
ing hot-footed  from  one  phase  of  thought  or  action  to  the  next. 
But  clear  as  is  the  distinction  between  the  two  aspects  of 
activity,  it  is  by  no  means  absolute.  Even  in  so  conservative 
a  character  as  Mr.  Woodhouse  (the  father  of  Jane  Austen's 
Emma)  there  is  something  more  than  the  obstinate  perpetua- 
tion of  an  acquired  way  of  life.  For  the  old  way  has  to  be 
pursued  in  the  face  of  a  constantly  changing  situation,  and 
this  adaptation  itself  implies  the  creative  element.  It  is  still 
more  evident  that  conservation  is  an  indispensable  element 
in  creation.  The  mathematician  can  discover  a  new  theorem 
only  if  he  retains  command  of  the  multiplication  table;  the 
scientific  investigator  advances  mainly  by  reshaping  or  ex- 
tending the  hypotheses  of  his  forerunners;  the  methods  of 
the  modernist  in  art,  music  or  poetry  are  the  old  methods 
remoulded  or  combined  afresh ;  and  the  most  daring  statesman 


THE  WILL  TO  LIVE  25 

rarely  does  more  than  give  a  novel  turn  to  some  ancient 
political  idea.  In  short,  conservation  and  creation  are  factors 
in  all  self-assertion,  and  what  distinguishes  one  type  of 
activity  from  another  is  not  the  presence  or  absence  of 
one  of  them,  but  their  relative  prominence.  Keeping  this 
qualification  in  mind,  we  may  briefly  examine  some  examples 
of  the  two  types. 

Recent  physiology  affords  exquisite  illustrations  of  the 
conservative  activities  of  the  organism  on  the  bodily  level. 
Let  us  take  as  an  instance  respiration  in  man.  It  has,  of 
course,  long  been  known  that  the  function  of  breathing  is  to 
supply  the  body,  through  the  blood,  with  oxygen,  part  of 
which  is  returned  to  the  lungs  and  there  excreted  as  carbon 
dioxide.  What  was  not  suspected  before  the  delicate  re- 
searches of  Dr.  J.  S.  Haldane  of  Oxford,  Professor  Yandell 
Henderson  of  Yale  and  their  collaborators  was  the  extra- 
ordinary complexity  and  efficiency  of  the  arrangements  by 
which  the  quantities  of  the  gases  that  enter  and  leave  the 
blood  are  regulated.  It  appears  that  carbon  dioxide  is  not, 
as  used  to  be  supposed,  merely  a  poison  to  be  got  rid  of ;  its 
presence  in  the  blood  in  a  certain  degree  of  concentration 
proves  to  be  as  necessary  to  life  as  the  presence  of  oxygen. 
To  maintain  this  concentration,  the  rate  and  depth  of  the 
breathing  are,  from  moment  to  moment,  so  regulated  that  the 
pressure  of  the  carbon  dioxide  in  the  air-spaces  of  the  lungs 
remains  at  an  average  of  almost  exactly  40  mm.  of  mercury, 
no  matter  whether  one  is  at  rest  or  at  work,  and  no  matter, 
within  wide  limits,  in  what  kind  of  atmosphere.  The  reader 
must  not  think  that  by  deliberate  rapid  or  slow  breathing  he 
can  affect  that  average ;  the  depth  of  his  breathing  will  auto- 
matically be  adjusted  to  frustrate  his  efforts.  So  delicate 
is  the  adjustment  that,  if  the  concentration  of  carbon  dioxide 
in  the  air-spaces  rises  by  0-2  per  cent .,  the  rate  of  ventilation 
of  the  lungs  is  doubled,  while,  if  it  be  lowered  by  the  same 
amount,  breathing  entirely  ceases. 


26    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

The  regulation  of  the  supply  of  oxygen  is  at  least  equally 
striking.  Normally  the  thin,  moist  lung-cells  that  separate 
the  air  and  the  blood  take  up  the  oxygen  and  pass  it  inwards 
until  its  pressure  within  the  blood  is  the  same  as  in  the  air- 
spaces. A  dead  membrane  could  do  as  much.  But  when,  as 
at  high  altitudes,  the  body,  by  reason  of  the  rarefaction  of  the 
air,  begins  to  suffer  from  oxygen-starvation,  the  cell  (in  Dr. 
Haldane's  words)  "suddenly  reminds  us  that  it  is  alive"; 
for  it  begins  actively  to  secrete  oxygen  inwards  so  as  to  pile 
up  the  pressure  of  the  gas  in  the  blood.  The  readjustment  in 
this  case  takes  some  time — hence  the  blue  lips  and  sickness 
of  the  mountaineer.  It  is  hardly  necessary  to  point  out  how 
relevant  this  new  knowledge  is  to  the  problems  of  flight  in 
aeroplanes  at  high  altitudes,  a  field  in  which  Dr.  Haldane 
and  his  collaborators  were  busied  in  applying  it  during 
the  Great  War. 

Conservation  on  the  psychical  level  is  a  subtler  thing,  but  no 
less  real.  It  isshown  partly  in  the  sense  of  "personal  identity" 
which  normally  abides  with  us,  partly  in  an  equally  abiding 
sense  of  familiarity  with,  of  being  at  home  in,  one's  material 
and  social  world ;  a  feeling  of  competence  to  confront  it  even 
if  for  the  moment  it  presents  a  strange  or  hostile  face.  These 
are  perhaps  aspects  or  components  of  a  feeling  that  our  hormic 
processes  "  belong  together,"  and  so  may  be  shared  by  the 
higher  animals.  The  loss  or  serious  weakening  of  one  or  both 
of  them  is  a  well-recognized  symptom  of  mental  disease. 
The  u  organic  regulation  "  of  breathing  and  other  physio- 
logical functions  is  paralleled  by  what  we  may  call  "  psychical 
regulation."  This  is  shown  in  the  fact — which  would  be  most 
impressive  if  it  were  not  so  familiar — that  lives,  to  all  appear- 
ance equally  satisfying,  can  be  lived  under  the  most  diverse 
conditions  of  fortune  and  of  circumstance.  It  is  also  shown 
whenever,  our  present  world  being  too  heavy  for  us,  hope 
denies  its  permanence,  or  fantasy,  in  dreams  and  day-dreams, 
calls  a  new  one  into  existence  to  redress  the  balance.    Here  is 


THE  WILL  TO  LIVE  27 

a  perfectly  normal  function  which,  when  violently  exaggerated, 
appears  as  delusional  insanity. 

Turning  now  to  the  organism's  cieative  activities,  we  find 
them  typified  on  the  bodily  level  by  the  phenomena  of  growth. 
Every  animal,  beginning  as  a  single  cell,  gradually  builds  the 
matter  caught  up  in  the  whirl  of  its  life  into  a  character- 
istic bodily  form.  The  fact  that  this  form  is  always  based 
upon  its  ancestors'  reminds  us  that  here,  as  everywhere  else, 
horme  and  mneme  work  together,  but  should  not  blind  us  to 
the  significance  of  growth  as  a  genuinely  creative  process. 
Specially  interesting  in  this  connection  is  the  regulation 
that  secures  the  development  of  the  typical  bodily  form  of  an 
animal  in  spite  of  serious  disturbances  in  the  normal  condi- 
tions of  growth.  We  may  refer  here  to  the  well-known  ex- 
periments of  Driesch  on  the  sea-urchin.  By  pressing  an  egg 
between  glass  plates,  Dr.  Driesch  compelled  the  embryo  to 
develop  for  some  time  as  a  flat  layer  of  cells  instead  of  in  the 
normal,  roughly  spherical,  shape;  nevertheless  it  grew,  after 
the  removal  of  the  pressure,  into  a  quite  irreproachable  sea- 
urchin.  The  experiments  of  T.  H.  Morgan  and  others  on 
the  regeneration  of  the  lost  parts  of  animals  illustrate  the 
same  kind  of  regulation  in  another  form. 

In  the  case  of  man,  at  least,  the  creative  character  of  the 
psychical  activities  scarcely  needs  specific  illustration;  the 
whole  fabric  of  the  civilization  he  has  built  up  bears  witness 
to  it.  Social  organization,  laws  and  government,  the  arts 
and  sciences,  have  all  sprung  from  a  restless  creative  power 
which,  even  in  the  dullest  of  mankind,  adds  to  the  world  some- 
thing that  would  not  be  there  if  that  power  had  not  been 
exercised.  The  whole  meaning  of  education  is  missed,  unless 
we  think  of  it  as  a  process  in  which  this  creative  power  is  to 
be  given  the  best  possible  chances  of  developing  and  express- 
ing itself.  We  need  not  dwell  here  upon  a  thought  that  will 
be  with  us  throughout  our  inquiries.  But  before  we  pass  on, 
it  may  be  noted  that  both  the  extreme  instances  of  "  regula- 


28    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

tion  "  mentioned  in  the  preceding  paragraph  have  psychical 
parallels.  The  famous  case  of  Helen  Keller,  blind,  deaf 
and  mute,  yet  a  literary  woman  and  a  philosopher,  is  the 
capital  instance  to  show  how  independent  of  circumstance  the 
growth  of  intellect  and  character  may  be ;  while  regeneration 
is  interestingly  paralleled  by  the  "  re-education  "  that  has 
restored  in  many  a  soldier  the  mind  mutilated  or  deformed 
by  shell-shock. 

We  have  next  to  bring  out  a  most  important  feature  which 
belongs  to  hormic  processes  of  both  kinds  and  of  all  levels — 
namely,  their  tendency  to  come  together  in  such  a  way  as  to 
merge  their  separate  identity  in  some  hormic  process  of  wider 
scope.  Just  as  in  an  army  or  a  Church  there  is  a  hierarchy  of 
officers  whose  duties  and  powers  are  always,  except  in  the 
highest,  subordinate  to  those  of  a  superior,  so  in  the  individual 
organism  we  constantly  meet  with  hierarchies  of  hormic  pro- 
cesses. Thus  the  reader's  effort  to  understand  the  present 
sentence  is  subordinate  to  the  ampler  hormic  process  which 
aims  at  grasping  the  argument  of  the  chapter,  this  to  the  still 
more  complex  process  whose  end  is  the  mastery  of  the 
book.  The  hierarchy  possibly  extends  much  higher  still; 
for  mastery  of  the  theory  of  education  may  be  an 
incident  in  the  reader's  training  for  his  profession,  and 
the  training  is  in  turn  subordinate  to  a  prolonged 
hormic  process  which  will  end  only  with  his  retirement 
from  teaching. 

In  this  illustration  each  of  the  constituents  of  the  hierarchy 
is,  like  the  hierarchy  as  a  whole,  not  only  a  hormic  but  also  a 
conative  process — that  is,  it  is  the  expression  of  a  conscious 
11  drive  "  towards  a  consciously  pursued  end.  It  is,  however, 
by  no  means  necessary  that  the  constituents  of  a  conative 
complex  should  themselves  be  conative.  Let  us  suppose  that 
a  man,  wishing  to  call  on  a  distant  friend,  rides  to  his  destina- 
tion on  a  bicycle.  The  expedition  as  a  whole  is  a  conative 
process,  and  the  act  of  cycling  taken  as  a  whole  is  also  a  cona- 


THE  WILL  TO  LIVE  29 

tive  process  subordinate  to  the  former.  But  the  latter  in- 
volves a  great  multiplicity  of  movements  of  limbs,  and  trunk, 
which  are  certainly  not  now  conative  processes,  though  they 
may  have  been  so  before  the  agent  became  an  expert  rider. 
Most  of  them  are  "  automatic  "  processes,  originally  distinct 
and  autonomous,  which,  as  the  cyclist  acquired  mastery  of  his 
art,  became  organized  into  a  hormic  system  which  works  as  a 
whole,  and  is  ready  as  a  whole  to  serve  the  interests  of  any 
higher  system  that  calls  for  its  collaboration.  And  in  the 
complicated  behaviour  of  those  deeper  parts  of  the  organism 
that  subserve  digestion  and  respiration  we  have  instances  of 
hormic  systems  of  an  elaborate  kind,  in  the  organization  and 
working  of  which  consciousness  plays  as  a  rule  no  discernible 
part. 

We  are  now  in  a  position  to  interpret  man's  life  as  a  history 
in  which  two  main  movements  are  to  be  distinguished.  One 
is  a  development  in  the  character,  or,  as  Professor  Alexander 
is  fond  of  saying,  in  the  perfection,  of  his  hormic  processes ; 
a  development  which  carries  them  from  the  merely  physio- 
logical level  through  the  level  of  unconscious,  or  only  dimly 
sentient,  animality  to  the  level  of  conscious  conation.  The 
other  is  a  complementary  development  in  which  they  become 
organized  into  ever  wider  and  more  complex  hormic  systems. 
Beginning  as  a  cell  in  his  mother's  body,  a  very  part  of  her 
flesh,  he  shortly  becomes  a  "  parasite  "  nourished  by  her  blood 
and  feeding  on  her  food,  yet  already  a  being  with  a  life  and 
destiny  of  his  own.  The  hormic  processes,  both  conservative 
and  creative,  in  which  that  life  consists,  are  still  mainly  uncon- 
scious, though,  as  his  nervous  system  determines  and  his  sense 
organs  form,  his  "  will  to  live  "  may  be  enriched  by  some  vague 
conational,  that  is  conscious,  elements,  while  he  still  lies  in 
his  mother's  womb.  As  soon  as  he  has  left  her  body  and  has 
entered  on  the  long  task  of  picking  his  way  through  the 
labyrinth  of  the  outer  world,  the  conational  elements  acquire 
a  new  significance,  and  their  development  becomes  the  centre 


30    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

of  the  spectator's  interest.  Conation  rises  slowly  from  the 
level  of  blind  or  purblind  impulse  to  that  of  clear-eyed  desire, 
and  eventually  from  the  level  of  desire  seeking  an  immediate 
good  to  that  of  will  fixed  upon  a  distant  and  perhaps  ideal  goal. 
Meanwhile,  subserving  this  advance  in  the  character  of  the 
horme,  there  is  a  parallel  development  in  its  organization — 
showing  itself  first  in  the  emergence  of  his  physiological  organs 
and  in  the  correlation  of  their  functions,  then,  after  birth,  in 
the  co-ordination  of  the  powers  of  sense  and  movement  in 
systems  of  ever-increasing  complexity  and  effectiveness,  and 
lastly  in  the  gradual  building  up  of  great  conative  hierarchies 
which  determine  the  form  of  the  man's  individuality  and  are 
the  measure  of  his  life's  achievement. 

The  significance  of  this  twofold  development  is,  we  repeat, 
itself  twofold.  On  the  one  hand,  it  enables  the  growing  child 
to  face  the  world  in  more  definite  independence  while  entering 
into  ever  richer  relations  with  it ;  on  the  other  hand  (and  the 
former  purpose  is  doubtless  subordinate  to  this),  it  enables  him 
to  express  himself  in  activities  that  have  an  ever-increasing 
value.  Education  is  concerned  with  both  these  aspects  of  the 
child's  development,  but,  as  we  have  already  said,  especially 
with  the  latter.  That  is,  for  instance,  the  meaning  of  the 
familiar  statement  that  the  main  task  of  teaching  is  to  create 
and  cultivate  "  interests."  There  should  be  no  need  in  this 
day  to  protect  that  statement  against  a  once  too  common 
misunderstanding.  It  means  not  that  the  school  should  be 
made  a  place  of  pleasant  entertainment,  but  that  it  is  a  place 
where  the  child  should  be  tempted  to  throw  himself  into  the 
worthiest  forms  of  activity,  and  where  the  hormic  systems 
which  function  in  those  activities  should  be  firmly  established 
in  his  nature  against  the  day  when  he  will  be  called  upon  to 
use  them  and  develop  them  further  in  the  greater  world  beyond 
school. 

Two  more  points  must  here  be  dealt  with  briefly  to  prepare 
the  way  for  later  discussions.    The  first  is  that  as  hormic 


THE  WILL  TO  LIVE  31 

processes  become  organized  into  systems,  the  activities  that 
spring  from  them  become  not  only  more  complex  but  also 
more  expressive.  The  italicized  term  can  best  be  explained 
by  examples.  A  good  picture  of  a  landscape  has  more 
expressiveness  than  the  landscape  itself,  a  better  picture  of  it 
more  expressiveness  than  one  less  good.  Keats's  ode  to  the 
nightingale  is  more  expressive  than  the  song  of  the  bird,  or  than 
the  emotions  and  thoughts  it  awakened  in  the  poet  before  his 
creative  labour  began.  The  play  of  a  trained  cricketer  is 
more  expressive  than  the  undisciplined  smiting  of  the  village 
batsman.  In  the  same  sense  of  the  word,  a  child's  interests 
and  other  forms  of  activity  become,  as  they  develop  naturally, 
more  expressive  than  the  crude  movements  of  mind  and  body 
from  which  they  sprang.  We  return  here  to  an  idea  we  have 
already  had  before  us :  that  the  way  of  the  artist  shows  in 
the  clearest  and  most  definite  form  what  is  fundamentally 
"and  ideally  the  way  of  all  life.  We  draw  and  must 
constantly  reinforce  the  corollary  that  the  best  way  of 
education  is  the  one  in  which  this  idea  is  most  fruitfully 
applied. 

Secondly,  we  must  note  that  recent  psychological  investi- 
gations, conducted  by  the  method  called  "psycho-analysis," 
have  thrown  a  flood  of  light  upon  the  whole  question  of  hormic 
organization.  They  have  shown,  on  the  one  hand,  how  large 
a  part  is  played  in  our  conscious  behaviour  by  hormic  factors 
of  which  we  may  be  at  the  time  utterly  unconscious — that  is, 
that  our  conative  processes  are  rarely  purely  conative,  but 
almost  always  embrace  important  components  belonging  to 
the  lower  strata  of  our  bafningly  complex  organism.  On  the 
other  hand,  they  have  illuminated  in  a  striking  way  the  con- 
tinuity of  our  conative  development,  showing  that  the  adult 
mind  is,  so  to  speak,  but  the  visible  surface  of  a  living  structure 
whose  deeper  layers  are  hormic  elements  dating  from  infancy 
or  even  beyond,  and  liable  in  certain  circumstances  still  to 
break  free  from  the  systems  into  which  they  have  become 


32    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

merged  and  to  claim  unfettered  expression.  But  these  are 
matters  that  had  best  be  dealt  with  in  the  inquiry  into  the 
forms  of  mneme  to  which  we  now  turn. 


NOTES  ON  BOOKS,  ETC. 

J.  S.  Haldane,  "  Organism  and  Environment  as  illustrated  by  the 
Physiology  of  Breathing  "  (Oxford  University  Press,  1917).  Also  "  The  New 
Physiology"  (Griffin,  1919).  On  the  question  of  conation,  the  advanced 
student  may  study  with  profit  S.  Alexander,  "  Foundations  and  Sketch- 
Plan  of  a  Conational  Psychology"  (British  Journal  of  Psychology,  vol.  iv., 
pts.  3  and  4,  December,  1911,  Cambridge  University  Press).  E.  B.  Holt, 
"  The  Freudian  Wish  "  (Fisher  Unwin,  1915),  gives  a  lively  and  ultra-radical 
treatment  of  the  same  subject.  The  standard  book  >>n  interest  is  John 
Adams'  "The  Herbartian  Psychology  Applied  to  Education"  (Heath  and 
Co.);  the  subject  is  also  pleasantly  treated  in  J.  Welton,  "  The  Psychology 
of  Education"  (Macmillan,  1911). 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE   LIVING   PAST 

In  the  conscious  life  of  man  mneme  is  most  clearly  manifested 
in  memory.  In  memory  my  own  past  still  lives  in  me ;  and  not 
only  my  own,  but  also  the  past  of  men  who  died  ages  before 
my  birth.  And  through  the  social  memory  we  call  history  the 
past  is  incessantly  shaping  the  present  actions  of  men.  There 
are,  however,  in  our  conscious  life  many  instances  of  mnemic 
activity  where  the  term  "memory"  cannot  be  applied  without 
an  inconveniently  wide  extension  of  its  proper  meaning.  It 
would,  for  example,  be  a  little  violent  to  say  that  the  reader 
"  remembers  "  what  words  the  several  groups  of  letters  in  this 
sentence  represent,  or  that  he  "  remembers  "  what  they  mean. 
And  he  would  certainly  not  tell  an  intimate  friend,  encountered 
in  the  street,  that  he  "  remembers  "  his  face.  Nor  would  he 
say  that  the  expert  pianist  "  remembers  "  where  to  place  his 
fingers  as  he  plays  a  piece  of  music  at  sight.  In  all  these  cases 
memory  once  played  its  part,  but  that  has  long  been  super- 
seded as  the  basis  of  action.  The  agent  now  reacts  immedi- 
ately upon  the  stimulus  without  any  conscious  reference  to  past 
experience;  he  "  reads  "  the  print,  he  "  recognizes  "  or  simply 
"  sees  "  his  friend,  he  plays  the  runs  and  chords  "  automati- 
cally." When  we  extend  our  consideration  to  lower  animals, 
the  need  of  a  wider  notion  than  memory  proper  becomes  still 
more  evident.  Horses  and  dogs,  for  example,  learn  a  great 
deal  both  from  instruction  and  from  experience,  but  it  is 
unlikely  that  conscious  memory  plays  more  than  a  very  sub- 
ordinate part  in  their  education .    And  when  we  descend  to  the 

33  3 


34    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

level  of  such  creatures  as  the  stentor  the  invocation  of  memory 
is  quite  out  of  the  question.  Yet,  as  we  saw  on  pp.  15-16, 
the  stentor,  in  its  encounter  with  the  stream  of  carmine, 
certainly  behaved  as  if  it  remembered  at  one  stage  of  the 
contest  what  had  happened  at  previous  stages.  It  is  abun- 
dantly clear,  then,  that  we  need,  merely  to  describe  the  overt 
behaviour  of  man  and  other  animals,  a  term,  such  as  mneme, 
which  shall  bear  to  memory  in  the  proper  sense  the  same 
relation  as  horme  bears  to  conation — that  is,  a  term  referring 
to  a  general  property  of  living  organisms,  of  which  conscious 
memory  is  only  a  special  and  occasional  manifestation. 

In  inquiring  more  closely  how  mneme  operates,  we  may 
conveniently  begin  with  an  example  drawn  from  the  interest- 
ing pages  of  the  biologist  from  whom  the  word  has  been  bor- 
rowed. A  young  dog,  happily  ignorant  as  yet  of  human 
baseness,  greets  with  friendly  barking  a  gang  of  boys,  who 
respond  by  pelting  him  with  stones.  Hurt  and  terrified,  the 
puppy  runs  home,  and  for  months  or  even  years  afterwards 
bolts  with  tail  between  legs  at  the  sight  of  man  or  boy  bending 
suddenly  to  the  ground. 

To  understand  such  a  sequence  of  events  it  is  clear  that  we 
must  in  the  first  place  credit  the  dog  with  certain  tendencies 
and  capacities:  the  capacity  to  "  perceive  "  and  the  tendency 
to  be  "  interested  in  "  the  doings  of  a  group  of  noisy  young 
human  beings,  the  tendency  to  bark  half  joyously  and  half 
defiantly  at  their  clatter,  the  capacity  to  single  out  or  discrimin- 
ate from  the  mass  of  their  movements  such  acts  as  stooping 
and  throwing,  the  capacity  to  feel  pain  and  terror  when  the 
skin  is  violently  struck,  the  tendency  to  flee  when  these  feelings 
are  powerfully  evoked.  These  capacities  and  tendencies, 
together  with  a  multitude  of  others,  are  the  conditions  which 
determine  the  way  in  which  the  puppy  will  react  to  the  various 
situations  he  encounters.  Using  a  convenient  term  of  the 
psychologists,  we  may  call  their  sum-total  the  animal's  "  dis- 
position ";  and,  since  the  point  of  the  story  we  are  analyzing 


THE  LIVING  PAST  35 

is  that  dispositions  change  as  the  result  of  "  experience," 
we  may  distinguish  the  initial  sum-total  from  the  form  it 
subsequently  assumes,  by  naming  it,  in  reference  to  what  is  to 
follow,  the  dog's  "  primary  disposition."1  There  is  no  evidence 
that  the  dog,  when  once  safely  home,  ever  remembers  or 
thinks  about  his  misadventure,  yet  we  find  that  if,  long  after- 
wards, a  stranger  should,  in  his  presence,  suddenly  stoop  to 
pick  up  an  object  from  the  ground,  or  to  adjust  a  shoe-lace, 
the  animal  may  bolt  incontinently  from  the  spot,  just  as  if  he 
had  not  only  perceived  the  movement,  but  had  also  received 
a  blow  from  a  missile.  It  is  evident,  therefore,  that  his 
"  primary  disposition  "  has  suffered  a  change  to  a  "  secondary 
disposition,"  which  only  awaited  the  appropriate  occasion 
to  be  revealed  in  a  novel  form  of  reaction.  The  question  is 
how  we  are  to  conceive  of  the  change.  The  obvious  reply  is 
that  the  dog's  experience  has  left  traces,  or  as  Semon  terms 
them,  "  engrams  "  ("  imprints  ")  upon  the  primary  disposi- 
tion, and  that  the  change  is  due  to  these.  But  if  we  are  to 
understand  the  matter  thoroughly  the  reply  must  go  farther 
than  this.  We  must  suppose  not  only  that,  on  the  day  of 
trouble,  the  perception  of  stone-throwing,  the  feeling  of  a  blow, 
and  the  experience  of  flight  urged  by  pain  and  terror  were  for 
the  first  time  brought  together  in  the  dog's  history,  but  that 
he  somehow  experienced  these  things  as  belonging  together. 
Of  his  capacity  to  experience  such  things  as  "  belonging  to- 
gether "  we  can  say  only  that  it  is  a  special  case  of  the  organ- 
ism's general  power  to  create  unity  in  diversity.  We  must, 
however,  further  suppose  that,  as  the  correlative  of  that  capa- 
city, the  several  engrams  which  correspond  to  the  several 
items  of  the  original  "  excitement-complex  " — i.e.,  the  per- 
ception of  stooping,  the  pain,  the  feelings  of  the  terrified  flight 
and  the  rest — do  not  simply  lie  side  by  side  in  the  animal's 

1  Semon' a  torra  is  "primarer  Indifferenzzustand,"  the  word  "indiffer- 
ence" referring,  of  course,  to  the  fact  that  the  animal  has  as  yet  not  learnt 
to  react  to  movements  suggestive  of  stone- throwing  in  the  way  he  does  after 
his  experience  of  their  painful  consequences. 


36    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

disposition,  but  are  deposited  therein  as  an  organized  "  engram- 
complex,"  forming  henceforward  part  of  the  structure  of  his 
secondary  disposition  and  having  a  definite  though  subordinate 
unity  of  its  own.  And  it  is  the  result  of  this  organization  that, 
when  one  of  the  original  excitements  recurs — namely,  the 
perception  of  a  boy  or  a  man  stooping  to  the  ground — the 
engram-complex  as  a  whole  is  reawakened  into  activity,  and 
the  animal  behaves  as  if  the  whole  of  the  original  situation 
were  reconstituted. 

It  seems  possible  to  interpret  in  terms  of  engram- 
complexes  phenomena  of  "  learning  by  experience  "  and  of 
"  coherent  progressiveness  and  adaptiveness  "  that  occur  in  a 
myriad  forms  in  the  behaviour  of  animals  from  the  lowest  up 
to  man.  It  is  important  to  realize  how  varied,  as  well  as 
numerous,  those  forms  may  be.  In  the  first  place,  it  is  by  no 
means  necessary  that  the  stimuli  which  give  rise  to  an  engram- 
complex  should  be  simultaneous;  they  are  at  least  as  often 
successive.  The  power  to  recite  a  poem  or  to  play  from 
memory  a  piece  of  music  implies  an  engram-complex  of  the 
latter  kind,  so  organized  that  each  word  or  chord,  when 
uttered  or  played,  brings  about  the  repetition  of  the  next 
and  of  the  subsequent  words  or  chords.  The  same  thing  must 
be  true  of  habitual  actions,  such  as  dressing  and  undressing, 
unlocking  familiar  doors,  and  the  like,  and  of  the  acquired 
ways  and  tricks  of  domestic  and  wild  animals;  in  none  of 
which  does  conscious  memory  play  a  conspicuous  part,  even 
if  it  is  present  at  all. 

In  the  second  place,  the  components  of  an  engram-com- 
plex may  be  derived  from  widely  different  strata  of  the  organ- 
ism's nature.  An  experiment  by  the  physiologist  Pavlov 
illustrates  effectively  this  important  principle.  Pavlov  made 
a  strict  point  of  giving  a  dog  food  exactly  two  minutes  after 
ringing  a  bell.  When  the  dog  was  habituated  to  this  pro- 
cedure, he  occasionally  rang  the  bell  without  offering  food  or 
allowing  it  to  be  seen.    Nevertheless,  saliva  was  on  these 


THE  LIVING  PAST  37 

occasions  copiously  secreted  in  the  animal's  mouth  precisely 
two  minutes  after  the  accustomed  signal.  The  physiologist 
cannot  tell  us  in  detail  what  happens  during  such  a  period 
of  two  minutes;  but  it  is  clearly  to  be  regarded  as  the  unfold- 
ing of  an  engram-complex  which,  though  it  includes  in  its 
scheme  widely  diverse  functions,  conscious  and  unconscious, 
is  yet  capable  of  being  "  released  "  by  the  action  of  a  single 
stimulus — the  sound  of  the  bell. 

The  student  will  find  no  difficulty  in  applying  similar  ex- 
planations to  numerous  phenomena  of  daily  occurrence — 
such  as  the  physiological  rhythms  connected  with  the  diges- 
tive functions,  and  with  sleep.  It  is  more  interesting  still  to 
see  how  they  may  be  invoked  to  illuminate  the  mysteries  of 
growth  and  inheritance.  To  understand  these — so  far  as 
understanding  is  at  present  possible — we  must,  in  the  first 
place,  grasp  the  fact  that  the  fertilized  germ-cell  is  not  some- 
thing that  precedes  the  organism,  but  is  the  organism  itself 
in  its  earliest  stage.  We  are  then  ready  to  think  of  it  as  pos- 
sessing a  disposition — the  "  primary  "  disposition  of  the 
organism  in  a  special  sense — which  is  already  charged  with 
engrams  derived  from  the  life  of  its  ancestors.  From  this 
point  of  view  the  physical  growth  of  a  creature  from  germ-cell 
to  the  adult  form  is  seen  as  a  process  entirely  homologous 
with  the  recitation  of  a  poem  or  the  playing  of  a  musical 
composition  from  memory.  Apart  from  the  circumstance 
(in  a  sense  accidental)  that  reciting  and  playing  are  conscious 
while  growth  is  unconscious,  the  only  substantial  difference 
between  the  two  kinds  of  process  lies  in  the  fact  that  the 
mnemic  basis  of  the  former  was  acquired  during  the  life  of 
the  individual,  while  bodily  growth  reveals  an  engram-complex 
that  was  established  far  back  in  the  individual's  ancestry. 
We  must  suppose  that  the  stimulus  which  provokes  the  first 
division  of  the  ovum  into  two  cells  acts  on  the  inherited  com- 
plex in  much  the  same  way  as  the  opening  words  of  the  poem 
or  notes  of  the  music  act  upon  the  acquired  complex.    Thus 


38    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

each  engram  in  the  series  announces  in  due  course  its 
presence  in  the  disposition  until  at  length  the  whole 
of  the  ancient  scheme  of  development  is  once  more 
reasserted. 

We  may  see  the  same  mnemic  principle  at  work  in  the 
instincts  of  animals — and  here  conscious  as  well  as  unconscious 
acts  are  involved  in  the  reaffirmation  of  the  inherited  rhythm. 
As  an  illustration  we  take  one  of  Semon's  examples :  the  nest- 
building  instinct  in  birds.  Nest-building  is,  of  course,  the 
expression  of  an  "  urge  "  subsidiary  to  the  hormic  process 
whose  end  is  the  procreation  and  nurture  of  the  next  genera- 
tion. That  great  hormic  process  is  initiated,  in  all  animals 
above  the  lowest,  by  definite  changes  in  the  structure  and 
functioning  of  the  reproductive  organs — changes  that  are 
themselves  incidents  in  the  repetition  of  the  mnemic  rhythm 
of  life.  At  a  certain  stage  in  its  development,  the  sight  of  the 
proper  kind  of  materials  acts  as  a  stimulus,  releasing  a  mar- 
vellously complex  train  of  activities  that  ends  only  with  the 
completion  of  a  nest,  often  of  a  highly  elaborate  and  character- 
istic pattern.  The  mated  birds  behave,  in  fact,  as  though 
they  remembered  and  sought  deliberately  to  reproduce  a 
structural  plan  firmly  established  in  the  tradition  of  their 
race.  Yet  neither  of  them  may  ever  have  seen  that  plan 
exemplified. 

Man  shows  no  such  unmistakable  instances  of  racial  mneme 
exhibited  on  the  conscious  as  well  as  on  the  merely  bodily 
level ;  nevertheless,  unprejudiced  observation  finds  sufficiently 
clear  traces  of  it  running  everywhere  through  the  tissue  of  his 
life.  It  is  a  trite  remark  that  "  as  soon  as  a  wife  becomes  a 
mother  her  whole  thought  and  feeling,  her  whole  being,  is 
altered,"  and  no  one  shrinks  from  referring  her  behaviour, 
even  in  its  highest  spiritual  manifestations,  to  "  maternal 
instinct,"  that  is  to  racial  mneme,  as  its  basis.  Many  writers 
have  ascribed  a  mnemic  origin  to  certain  characteristics  of 
mythology  and  folklore  that  are  found  among  men  of   all 


THE  LIVING  PAST  39 

races,  and  appear  in  varied  but  allied  forms  at  all  periods  of 
history.  It  is  even  suggested  with  some  plausibility  that 
certain  common  features  of  our  dreams  may  be,  so  to  speak, 
revivals  of  the  waking  thoughts  of  our  remote  forefathers; 
that  they  are  racial  reminiscences  which,  excluded  from 
waking  consciousness  by  the  conditions  of  modern  life,  assert 
their  continued  existence  by  weaving  themselves  into  the 
visions  of  the  night. 

It  is  more  germane  to  our  purpose  to  note  that  the  same 
notion  of  racial  mneme  is  the  basis  of  a  theory  which,  though 
it  is  sometimes  pressed  to  extravagant  lengths,  has  consider- 
able validity  as  an  educational  principle.  That  is  the  theory 
that  the  mental  development  of  the  individual  "  recapitu- 
lates "  the  mental  history  of  the  race.  Professor  Stanley 
Hall,  a  leading  exponent  of  the  view,  exemplifies  it  when  he 
bids  us  see  in  our  little  civilized  barbarians  between  the  ages 
of  eight  and  twelve,  with  their  stable  bodily  form  and  obstinate 
good  health,  and  their  curious  passion  for  independent  life, 
a  clear  reaffirmation  of  a  pigmoid  stage  in  human  evolution, 
which  still  has  representatives  in  the  Bushmen  and  the  little 
people  of  the  Congo  forests.  In  the  same  spirit  Professor 
Carveth  Read,  an  eminently  cautious  thinker,  finds  "  re- 
capitulation," not  only  in  the  way  in  which  the  speech  of 
children,  like  that  of  the  infra-human  hunting  pack  from 
which  he  assumes  mankind  to  be  derived,  "  emerges  from 
emotional  noises  and  impulsive  babbling,  assisted  by  gesture," 
and  in  their  early  awakened  appetite  for  private  property, 
but  also  in  the  passion  which  from  about  the  sixth  year  is 
directed  towards  the  building  of  "  houses,"  showing  a  strong 
family  likeness  to  the  tree-shelters  of  anthropoid  apes,  and 
towards  the  making  of  primitive  tools.  He  even  suggests 
that  by  observation  of  children  we  may  effect  a  tentative 
reconstruction  of  the  lost  series  of  events  which  made  up 
the  early  history  of  man's  emergence  from  the  beast, 
and    of    his    long    struggle    towards    the    possession    of 


40    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

language,  customs,  myths,  reasoning   power  and  humane 
sentiments.1 

Before  closing  this  chapter  it  is  proper  to  make  a  brief 
reference  to  views,  supported  by  the  authority  of  eminent 
names,  which  make  a  radical  distinction  among  the  mnemic 
phenomena  that  we  have  tried  to  reduce  to  a  single  principle. 
M.  Henri  Bergson  has  maintained  that  there  is  a  fundamental 
difference  between  what  he  regards  as  true  memory  and 
the  so-called  "  mechanical  association  "  with  which  we  have 
confounded  it.  Professor  Wildon  Can*  has  illustrated  Berg- 
son's  distinction  by  the  difference  between  an  auditor's 
memory  of  the  performance  of  a  piece  of  music  and  the  "  motor 
mechanisms  "  that  enabled  the  pianist  to  play  it.  Dr.  William 
McDougall  has  contrasted,  for  the  same  purpose,  the  ease  and 
perfection  with  which  his  child  of  six  recalled  past  scenes 
and  events  and  the  slowness  and  difficulty  with  which  the 
same  child  learned  to  name  the  letters  of  the  alphabet.  Berg- 
son and  McDougall  do  not  explain  these  differences  in  the 
same  way,  but  their  interpretations  agree  in  spirit.  Accord- 
ing to  both,  mechanical  association  is  an  affair  of  the  body, 
chiefly  of  the  nervous  system,  while  true  memory  is  an  activity 
of  a  spiritual  force  or  entity  that  uses  the  bodily  mechanism 
for  its  purposes.  In  short,  mechanical  association  belongs  to 
the  "  corpse,"  true  memory  to  the  "  ghost  "  in  the  corpse. 

To  combat  this  contention  in  detail  would  delay  us  too 
long.  We  must  be  content  to  point  out  that  Bergson  and 
McDougall  seem  to  have  surrendered  to  the  mechanists  so  far 
as  the  body  is  concerned,  and  seek  to  redress  the  situation  by 
invoking  the  mysterious  aid  of  a  deus  in  machina.  Unless 
they  are  also  prepared,  which  they  are  not,  to  accept  the 
Cartesian  paradox  that  all  animals  but  man  are  soulless,  they 
must  either  refer  the  phenomena  of  "  true  memory  "  (includ- 
ing, in  McDougall's  case,  the  very  numerous  phenomena  called 

1  See  hia  article  ia  the  British  Journal  of  Psychology,  vol.  viii.,  pt.  4, 
June,  1917. 


THE  LIVING  PAST  41 

"  recognition  of  meaning  ")  to  the  operation  of  a  spiritual 
world-entity  which  uses  all  animal  bodies  as  its  instruments 
of  expression,  or  suppose  each  machina  in  which  they  appear 
to  have  its  own  deus.  It  is  roughly  just,  if  summary,  to  say 
that  Professor  Bergson  adopts  the  former  alternative,  Dr. 
McDougall  the  second.  We  can  only  reassert  our  preference 
for  the  view  which  regards  no  bodily  phenomena  as  purely 
mechanical,  and  sees  in  the  phenomena  of  conscious  life  but 
the  highest  manifestation  of  properties  that  permeate  all 
organisms  through  and  through. 

NOTES  ON  BOOKS,  ETC. 

The  references  to  Semon  are  drawn  from  his  book,  "Die  Mneme  als 
erhaltendes  Prinzip"  (Leipzig,  Engelmann,  3rd  ed.,  1911;  pp.  420).  The 
book  is  well  analyzed  and  criticized  by  Marcus  M.  Haktoo,  "Problems  of 
Life  and  Reproduction  "  (John  Murray,  1913).  For  the  theory  of  re- 
capitulation see  Stanley  Hall,  "Adolescence"  (2  vols.,  Appleton,  1904). 
Behoson's  views  on  memory  are  set  out  in  his  "Matter  and  Memory," 
especially  Chapter  III.,  and  are  admirably  expounded  in  Wiltjon  Carr, 
"The  Philosophy  of  Change"  (Macmillan,  1914).  MciDoucall's  views  are 
given  in  his  deeply  interesting  "Body  and  Mind"  (Methuen,  1911).  For 
the  laws  of  mechanical  association,  see  H.  J.  Watt's  useful  little  book, 
"The  Economy  and  Training  of  Memory"  (Edward  Arnold,  1909). 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  RELATIONS  BETWEEN  HORME  AND  MNEME 

We  have  separated  horme  and  mneme  for  convenience  of 
discussion,  but  it  must  always  be  remembered  that  the  terms 
are  only  names  for  aspects  of  the  organisrn^activities,.  and 
that  the  features  to  which  they  refer  are,  in  historical  fact, 
never  separated.  Every  act  of  self-assertion  is  both  hormic 
and  mnemic :  hormic  in  so  far  as  it  is  an  instance  of  the  con- 
servative or  creative  activity  which  is  the  essence  of  life, 
mnemic  in  so  far  as  its  form  is  at  least  partly  shaped  by  the 
organism's  individual  or  racial  history.  In  other  words, 
engram-complexes  are  not  to  be  thought  of  as  dead  deposits 
in  the  organism,  or  as  possible  materials  of  which  the  organism's 
creative  activity  makes  use,  but  are  living  parts  of  the  dis- 
position from  which  all  the  animal's  activity  flows;  or,  to 
put  the  same  idea  differently,  are  the  vehicles  in  which  the 
conservative  and  creative  functions  appear  and  are  exercised. 
This  very  important  truth  is  involved  in  the  familiar 
observation  that  progress  in  art  and  invention,  in  science  and 
philosophy,  in  politics  and  social  life,  and  (we  may  add)  in 
morals  and  religion,  is  never  an  advance  from  something  wholly 
discarded  to  something  wholly  new.  The  stepping  stones 
on  which  men  and  societies  rise  to  higher  things  are  never 
their  dead  selves,  but  their  mnemic  selves,  alive  and  actively 
growing.  The  reader  is  advised,  especially  if  he  is  a  teacher, 
to  gain  as  vivid  an  idea  as  possible  of  this  activity  of  the 
"living  past"  by  studying  it  in  the  history  of  some  im- 
portant department  of  human  progress. 

42 


RELATIONS  BETWEEN  HORME  AND  MNEME  43 

He  should  also  learn  to  recognize  the  omnipresence  of  the 
same  principle  in  every-day  activities.  Take  as  an  example 
the  writing  of  a  letter.  It  is  obvious  that  the  impulse  to  use 
this  highly  artificial  mode  of  communication  is  mnemic,  as 
well  as  the  command  of  words  and  their  meanings,  of  spelling, 
and  of  pen-movements  that  is  needed  for  its  fulfilment. 
Moreover,  the  specific  situation  out  of  which  the  impulse — 
the  horme — arises  must  also  be  largely  mnemic  in  character, 
for  the  writer's  purpose  must  be  to  congratulate,  to  apologize, 
to  persuade,  to  express  love  or  anger,  or  to  perform  some 
other  act  of  a  recognized  type.  This  mnemic  mass  is  the 
matrix  in  which  horme  stirs  and  out  of  which  it  emerges, 
taking  definite  shape  and  content  as  it  proceeds.  Thus  the 
writer's  confidence  that  he  "  knows  what  he  is  going  to  say  " 
does  not  imply  that  he  knows  beforehand  what  words  he  is 
about  to  set  down.  It  is  an  excitement  awakened  by  a 
situation  which,  though  partly  new,  is  also  partly  old — an 
excitement  felt  already  to  be  spreading  to  the  engrams 
(engrams  of  ideas,  words,  turns  of  expression,  and  so  forth), 
whose  activities  must  be  drawn  into  its  sphere  if  it  is  to  be 
an  adequate  vehicle  of  self-assertion  in  face  of  the  novel  as 
well  as  the  familiar  elements  of  that  situation.  The  same 
general  account  may  evidently  be  given  of  the  genesis  of  a 
poem,  of  a  piece  of  music,  or  of  the  solution  of  any  theoretical 
or  practical  problem.  Nor  does  it  hold  good  only  of  elaborate 
activities  such  as  these;  it  is  equally  true  (for  example)  of 
every  act  of  verbal  expression  that  goes  beyond  the  bare 
repetition  of  a  conventional  formula.  Thus  any  conversation 
that  is  more  than  a  mere  exchange  of  commonplaces  has 
necessarily  an  element  of  adventure ;  for  no  speaker  who  has 
once  embarked  upon  a  sentence  can  foresee  precisely  where 
it  will  carry  him.  All  that  can  be  said  with  certainty  is : 
(i.)  that  the  utterance  must  originate  in  the  excitement,  at 
once  hormic  and  mnemic,  of  some  specific  complex;  (ii.) 
that  this  complex  governs  its  course  from  beginning  to 


44    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

end;1  and  (iii.)  that  the  complex  does  not  remain  unchanged 
during  the  utterance,  but  is  modified  and  enriched  by  the 
products  of  its  own  creative  activity  in  such  a  way  that  it 
often  becomes  a  substantially  new  thing,  fitted  to  be  the 
starting-point  of  a  fresh  movement  of  self-assertion. 

This  directive  influence  of  the  engram-complex  is  called 
by  psychologists  its  "  determining  tendency,"  and  has  been 
studied  experimentally  in  simple  cases.  Let  the  reader  utter 
or  exhibit  to  another  person  (the  "  subject  ")  a  word  chosen 
at  random,  having  previously  instructed  the  subject  to  reply 
with  the  first  word  that  comes  into  his  mind.  In  this  case — 
technically  known  as  the  case  of  "  free  association  " — it  is 
impossible  to  foresee  what  kind  of  "  reaction  "  the  "  stimulus- 
word  "  will  provoke,  for  the  mental  movement  is  at  liberty 
to  take  any  one  of  an  indefinite. number  of  possible  directions. 
But  now  let  the  experimenter  announce  that  the  stimulus- 
word  will  be  the  name  of  a  class,  and  that  the  reaction  is  to 
be  the  name  of  some  specimen  of  that  class;  then  the  re- 
sult will  be  quite  different.  For  the  association  that  supplies 
the  reaction  is  no  longer  "  free  " ;  it  is  "  constrained  " — that  is, 
guided  by  a  definite  "  determining  tendency."  If,  for  instance, 
the  stimulus- word  is  "  animal,"  the  reaction  will  be  some 
such  word  as  "  dog  " ;  if  "  coin,"  some  such  word  as  "  penny," 
and  so  on. 

It  is  important  to  realize  what  happens  here.  The  sub- 
ject's memory  does^otthrowur)  a  number  of  suggestions  from 
which  a  suitable  reaction- word  is  consciously  selected;  it 
gives  him  immediately  a  word  of  the  required  character.  Such 
a  result  cannot  be  explained,  except  on  the  assumption  that 
the  determining  tendency  is  the  hormic  action  of  a  complex 

(whose  excitement  induces  the  activity  only  of  engrams  con- 
gruent with  itself.    We  may,  in  fact,  regard  these  experi- 

1  The  plight  of  the  nervous  public  speaker  who  "  loses  the  thread  of  his 
sentence"  is  duo,  of  course,  to  a  failure  of  the  engram-complex  to  retain 
ita  command  of  the  activity. 


RELATIONS  BETWEEN  HORME  AND  MNEME  45 

ments  on  constrained  association  as  simplified  models  of  what 
takes  place  in  all  originating  activity,  whether  it  be  shown 
in  thought,  in  invention  and  imagination,  or  in  every-day 
phenomena  of  action  and  will. 

Before  passing  on  we  must  emphasize  another  aspect  of  the 
relations  between  horme  and  mneme.  We  all  know  that 
memory  is  apt  to  prove  treacherous,  not  only  in  what  it  lets 
slide,  but  also  in  what  it  retains.  For  instance,  an  exciting 
incident  we  may  have  witnessed  is  often  strangely  translated 
in  our  subsequent  account  of  it.  This  is  notably  the  case  if 
we  ourselves  played  in  the  events  a  part  not  so  satisfactory 
as  we  might  have  wished;  we  are  then  apt.  however  innocently 
and  unconsciously,  to  mould  them  nearer  to  the  heart's 
desire.  Children  exhibit  this  familiar  tendency  in  a  specially 
striking  way,  and  are  liable,  as  R.  L.  Stevenson  has  pointed 
out,  to  suffer  unjust  censure  on  account  of  it. 

Phenomena  of  this  kind  not  only  show  that  memory  and 
imagination  have  a  common  origin  and  are  always  closely 
allied;  they  also  exemplify  well  a  more  general  principle — 
namely,  that  the  mnemic  basis  of  our  actions  tends  constantly 
to  be  modified  in  such  a  way  as  to  make  self-assertion  more 
effective  and  (so  to  speak)  more  shapely. — in  a  word,  more 
expressive.1  Thus  in  the  process  of  attaining  to  automatism 
in  such  actions  as  writing,  playing  a  musical  instrument, 
dancing,  and  the  use  of  tools,  a  number  of  superfluous  and 
clumsy  movements  are  always  eliminated,  so  that  the  activity 
which  issues  from  the  final  engram-complexes  is  much  more 
economical,  graceful  and  efficient  than  it  was  at  first,  and 
may  acquire  these  qualities  in  the  highest  degree. 

A  well-known  experiment  by  Thorndike  illustrates  the  same 
principle  at  work  on  a  lower  level.  Hungry  cats  were  shut 
up  in  cages  from  which  they  could  escape  only  if,  by  happy 
accident,  they  pulled  the  cord,  lifted  the  latch  or  turned  the 
button  that  opened  the  door.     If  a  cat  once  succeeded,  by  a 

1  See  p.  31. 


46    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

lucky  sequence  of  random  movements,  in  escaping  and  reach- 
ing the  food  exposed  outside  the  cage,  it  generally  released 
itself  much  more  quickly  on  subsequent  occasions,  and  might, 
in  favourable  cases,  soon  learn  to  do  so  immediately.  We 
must  suppose  that  in  such  cases  the  animal's  success  tended 
to  consolidate  the  mnemic  basis  of  its  movements  into  a 
definite  complex  from  which  the  engrams  connected  with 
irrelevant  actions  were  excluded.  That  is  to  say,  successful 
self-assertion,  in  animals  as  in  men,  tends  to  modify  its  mnemic 
basis  in  a  direction  favourable  to  still  more  secure  and  facile 
expression. 

An  interesting  feature  in  the  processes  just  described  is  the 
way  in  which  an  engram-complex  often  becomes  "  consoli- 
dated "  during  intervals  of  rest  from  the  performance  it 
underlies.  As  William  James  says,  "  we  learn  to  swim  in 
winter  and  to  skate  in  summer."  The  reader  has,  perhaps, 
himself  observed  instances  in  which  skilled  acts,  not  yet  per- 
fectly automatic,  are  performed  better  immediately  after 
than  they  were  before  an  interval  of  abstention  from  practice.1 

Some  recent  experiments  by  Dr.  P.  B.  Ballard  illustrate 
beautifully  the  same  phenomenon  in  verbal  memory.  Ballard 
found  that  when  a  piece  of  poetry  is  learnt  by  heart,  the  amount 
available  for  recall,  instead  of  being  greatest  immediately 
after  the  learning,  may  increase  for  several  days — some  words 
and  phrases  originally  remembered  being  lost  but  replaced 
by  a  greater  number  that  emerge  after  the  interval.  This 
"  reminiscence "  is  very  notable  in  young  children,  but 
diminishes  in  amount  as  they  grow  older.  In  adults  it 
appears  to  be  almost  negligible.2 

The  facts  of  consolidation  form  a  natural  transition  to  the 
next  point  of  our  discussion.    They  suggest  that  a  determining 

1  Such  observations  have  an  obvious  bearing  on  teaching  methods. 

a  See  Ballard,  "Reminiscence and Obliviscence,"  Monograph  Supplement 
of  the  Brit.  Journ.  of  Psych.,  No.  2,  1915.  The  present  author  formerly 
possessed  in  a  considerable  degree  the  power  of  recovering  after  an  interval 
a  melody  once  heard  but  not  then  remembered.  He  finds  that  he  has  now 
lost  it  almost  entirely. 


RELATIONS  BETWEEN  HORME  AND  MNEME    47 

tendency,  after  it  has  ceased  to  occupy  consciousness,  may 
still  pursue  its  work  in  the  darkness  of  unconsciousness.  This 
interpretation  is  strongly  supported  by  the  common  observa- 
tion that  if  we  "  sleep  over  "  a  difficult  problem,  we  often  find 
the  solution  in  our  hands  when  we  return  to  it  in  the  morning. 
And  every  one  must  have  noticed  how  frequently  things  that 
memory  has  sought  in  vain  to  recall  may  at  a  later  moment 
"  saunter  into  the  mind,  "  as  James  says,  casually  and 
irrelevantly,  "  just  as  if  they  had  never  been  sent  for." 

Occurrences  of  this  kind  prompt  the  question  whether 
association  is  ever  really  "  free,"  and  whether  the  "accidental" 
emergence  of  thoughts  and  words  into  consciousness  is  not 
always  due  to  the  action  of  determining  tendencies — that  is, 
of  engram-complexes — "  working  in  the  darkness."  That, 
in  a  great  number  of  instances,  this  is  the  case  has  been  proved 
by  the  insight  and  patient  labours  of  Professor  S.  Freud  of 
Vienna  and  Dr.  Carl  Jung  of  Ziirich,  whose  discoveries  have 
opened  up  a  most  important  field — perhaps  the  most  important 
— in  modern  psychology. 

The  reader  must  understand  clearly  what  is  the  point  at 
issue.  It  has  long  been  a  psychological  commonplace  that 
the  course  taken  by  thought  and  memory  is  normally1  deter- 
mined by  certain  "  laws  of  association."  The  question  raised 
by  Freud  and  Jung  concerns  the  nature  of  those  laws.  Accord- 
ing to  the  older  view,  association  is  a  purely  mnemic  pheno- 
menon, depending  entirely  upon  such  "  mechanical  "  factors 
as  the  frequency  and  recency  of  the  connections  in 
experience  between  the  things  associated.  According  to 
the  newer  view  (which  will  be  seen  to  be  consonant  with 
the  ideas  developed  in  this  book),  it  is  essentially  hormic  as 
well  as  mnemic.  That  is  to  say,  the  course  of  thought  and 
memory  is  largely  determined  by  active  complexes,  whose 

1  "Normally,"  because  it  has  commonly  been  assumed,  explicitly  or 
implicitly,  that  in  insanity  and  in  the  "irrational"  behaviour  of  neurotics 
the  ordinary  laws  of  association  in  some  mysterious  way  break  down. 


48    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

influence  depends  not  so  much  upon  whether  they  have  been 
frequently  or  recently  excited  as  upon  the  part  they  have 
played  in  the  subject's  hormic  history.  If  a  complex  has  been 
an  important  vehicle  of  self-assertion — and  especially  if  its 
activity  has  been  markedly  pleasurable  or  unpleasant — it 
will  insinuate  its  influence  into  the  current  of  thoughts  and 
memories  as  mysteriously  and  irresistibly  as  King  Charles's 
head  forced  itself  into  Mr.  Dick's  memorial.1 

By  examining  a  subject's  reactions  to  a  carefully  chosen 
series  of  stimulus-words,  a  skilled  experimenter  can  generally 
bring  to  light  those  engram-complexes  in  the  subject's  dis- 
position which  have  or  have  had  most  significance  for  his  self- 
assertion.  Sometimes  the  complexes  disclosed  by  this 
' '  psycho-analysis ' '  occasion  the  subj  ect  no  surprise ;  sometimes, 
on  the  other  hand,  he  has  not  the  least  idea  of  the  degree  to 
which  they  dominate  his  mental  life — or  even,  of  their  exist- 
ence. For  example,  when  one  of  Jung's  patients  reacted 
both  frequently  and  (often)  irrelevantly  with  the  word 
14  short,"  he  was  merely  revealing  unintentionally  the  annoy- 
ance he  had  consciously  suffered  for  years  on  the  score  of  his 
diminutive  stature.  But  when  a  friend  of  the  author  found 
that  his  free  associations,  if  followed  up,  nearly  always  led  to 
topics  connected  with  his  professional  occupation,  he  was 
astonished  and  somewhat  concerned;  for  he  was  a  recent 
and  devoted  husband.  The  results  of  his  psycho-analysis 
do  not,  however,  prove  that  he  nourished,  unknown  to  himself, 
a  coldness  towards  his  wife ;  they  simply  illustrate  the  dominat- 
ing influence  of  complexes  which  had  for  years  been  the  main 
channels  of  his  self-assertion.  A  striking  literary  instance  of 
the  self-revelation  sometimes  brought  about  by  reaction  to 
"  stimulus- words  "  is  Emma  Woodhouse's  sudden  discovery  of 
her  attitude  towards  Mr.Knightley,  provoked  by  a  critical  con- 
versation with  her  friend  Harriet  Smith.     The  candid  reader 

1  This  is  not  merely  an  analogue;  it  is  rather  an  example  of  the  action 
of  a  peculiarly  insistent  complex. 


RELATIONS  BETWEEN  HORME  AND  MNEME  49 

will  probably  confess  to  similar  events,  trivial  or  serious,  in 
his  own  experience.  "  Sudden  conversions  "  and  a  host  of 
analogous  incidents  are  phenomena  of  essentially  the  same 
kind. 

More  important  still  than  the  positive  influence  of  buried 
complexes  is  their  negative  influence  in  excluding  ideas  and 
recollections  from  consciousness.  If  a  subject  is  flustered  by  a 
stimulus-word,  or  takes  an  unusually  long  time  in  reacting 
to  it,  it  is  generally  safe  to  deduce  that  the  word  has  impinged 
upon  a  complex  whose  conscious  activity  would  be  painful. 
The  complex  may  lie  on  the  "  fore-conscious  "  level — that  is, 
the  ideas  belonging  to  its  activity,  though  forgotten,  may  be 
capable  of  being  recalled  by  the  subject.  But  in  other  cases 
it  may  be  buried  so  deep  that  only  ruthless  and  long-continued 
psycho-analysis  can  bring  it  to  light.  In  such  cases  it  is 
always  found  to  be  derived  from  painful  experiences  or  un- 
pleasant impressions  deliberately  expelled  from  the  mind,  or 
to  be  connected  with  directions  of  self-assertion  from  which 
the  subject,  in  his  development,  has  more  or  less  violently 
broken  away. 

The  phenomenon  here  in  view  is  described  by  the  technical 
term  "  repression."  Ordinary  forgetfulness  is,  without  doubt, 
often  due  to  repression — that  is,  to  the  fact  that,  unconsciously, 
one  wants  to  forget.1  The  letter  which  I  persistently  forget 
to  write,  or,  after  I  have  written  it,  to  post,  is  frequently  a 
disagreeable  one;  the  family  to  whom  I  have  inexplicably 
omitted  to  send  my  usual  Christmas  greetings  turns  out  to 
have  a  name  similar  to  that  of  an  intimate  friend,  recently 
lost;  and  so  on.  Chronic  as  well  as  occasional  lapses  of 
memory  come  under  this  explanation.  It  has  been  suggested,2 
for  example,  that  inability  to  remember  personal  names  may 
often  be  due  to  the  circumstance  that  one's  own  name,  being 

1  Dr.  Ernest  Jones  boldly  maintains  that  all  forgetfulness  is  due  to  this 
cause.      See  his  paper  in  Brit.  Journ.  of  Psych.,  vol.  viii.,  pt.  i. 

2  By  Dr.  Ernest  Jones,  who,  following  his  master,  Freud,  has  written 
on  the  whole  subject  very  brilliantly. 

4 


50      EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

either  odd  or  extremely  common,  is  offensive  to  one's  self- 
esteem.  And  a  host  of  blunders  and  mistakes — such  as  slips 
of  tongue  and  pen,  misprints,  the  mislaying  of  objects,  false 
recognition  of  persons  and  things — may  similarly  be  attributed 
to  the  influence  of  repressed  complexes. 

In  the  foregoing  instances  the  buried  complex  exercises 
direct  influence,  positive  or  negative,  upon  thought  or  action. 
In  other  cases  its  influence  may  be  disguised  by  the  fact  that 
it  merges  its  activities  in  those  of  other  complexes  which  have 
retained  the  right  of  admission  to  consciousness.  The  ex- 
pression of  the  buried  complex  is  in  these  cases  not  direct  but 
symbolic.  Oddities  of  manner,  spasmodic  grimaces,  and  queer 
habits  (such  as  Dr.  Johnson's  trick  of  touching  every  post  he 
passed) often  ha vetheir  explanation  here ;  meaningless  inthem- 
selves,  they  can  be  shown  by  psycho-analysis  to  be  perfectly 
intelligible  as  symbols  by  which  some  inarticulate  complex 
is  striving  to  express  itself.  Thus  an  epidemic  of  breakages 
in  the  kitchen  may  symbolize  the  maid-servant's  antipathy  to 
a  scolding  mistress.  The  virtuous  maid  may  be  unaware  of 
the  depth  of  her  resentment,  and  may  seek,  quite  honestly, 
to  "  rationalize  "  the  "  accidents  "  by  attributing  them  in  good 
faith  to  the  coldness  of  her  hands  or  the  hotness  of  the  water, 
or  by  invoking  some  other  plausible  excuse. 

There  are  few  of  us  whose  daily  thoughts  and  conduct 
do  not  offer  to  the  psycho-analyst  material  of  this  character. 
And,  as  Freud  has  shown,  there  is  one  region  of  the  mental 
life  of  every  one  where  the  symbolic  activity  of  buried  com- 
plexes is  not  an  exceptional  incident  but  an  essential  and  uni- 
versal feature — namely,  the  region  occupied  by  dreams. 
Dreams,  to  use  Mr.  Maurice  Nicoll's  apt  image,  are  cartoons  ; 
and  in  them  the  skilled  interpreter  may  often  "  read  strange 
matters."  That  is  why  they  are  now  so  industriously  studied 
by  those  whose  business  is  to  minister  to  minds  diseased. 

There  is  an  interesting  and  important  difference  in  the 
attitude  of  Freud  and  Jung  towards  dreams.    According  to 


RELATIONS  BETWEEN  HOEME  AND  MNEME    51 

Freud,  a  dream  always  harks  back  to  repressed,  and  therefore 
unfulfilled  desires  of  childhood.  He  holds,  then,  that  its 
"  manifest  content  "  must  invariably  be  interpreted  as  the 
disguise  assumed  by  a  "  latent "  infantile  wish  seeking 
symbolic  satisfaction  in  the  dream-phantasy.  Jung  accepts 
the  distinction  between  the  "  manifest  "  and  the  "  latent  " 
content  of  dreams,  and  recognizes  the  influence  of  forgotten 
incidents  of  childhood.  But  for  him  the  dream,  though 
necessarily  rooted  in  the  past,  is  essentially  a  forward-directed 
activity.  It  embodies  symbolically  a  protest  or  warning  of 
the  organism  as  a  whole  against  the  unhealthily  restricted 
range  or  the  dangerous  course  of  its  own  conscious  activities.1 
Both  theories  have,  probably,  their  special  spheres  of  useful- 
ness, but  the  reader  will  observe  that  Jung's  view  brings  the 
dream  into  line  with  the  general  doctrine  of  self-maintenance 
sketched  in  Chap.  III.  and  with  what  was  said  about  the 
functions  of  engram-complexes  earlier  in  the  present 
chapter. 

A  case  recently  described  by  Dr.  W.  H.  R.  Rivers2  illus- 
trates very  clearly  the  value  of  dreams  in  the  diagnosis  and 
treatment  of  mental  troubles.  The  subject  was  an  officer  in 
the  R.A.M.C.  who  was  a  victim  to  claustrophobia — that  is,  to 
an  unreasoning  dread  of  being  in  an  enclosed  space,  especially 
if  he  could  not  escape  from  it.  He  had  suffered  from  this 
painful  fear  since  boyhood,  but  never  discovered  it  to  be 
abnormal  until,  on  joining  the  Army  in  France,  he  observed 
that  other  men  could  live  comfortably  in  the  trenches  and 
dug-outs  in  circumstances  so  intolerable  to  himself  that  his 
health  completely  broke  down  under  them.  When  he  came 
into  Dr.  Rivers'  hands  he  was  instructed  to  record  his  dreams 
and,  in  particular,  to  follow  up  the  memories  that  came  into 
his  mind  while  thinking  over  them  immediately  on  waking. 

1  This  view  is  expounded  at  length  in  Mr.  Nicoll's  book  and  is  excel- 
lently illustrated,  with  special  reference  to  education,  in  Dr.  Constance 
Long's  article  in  the  Joum.  of  Ex/per.  Pedagogy  for  June,  1917. 

a  In  The  Lancet  for  August  18,  1917. 


52    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

In  this  way  he  eventually  recovered  the  long-forgotten  in- 
cident that  was  the  origin  of  his  trouble.  It  seems  that  when 
three  or  four  years  of  age  he  had  taken  an  article  for  sale  to  a 
rag  and  bone  merchant,  whose  dwelling  was  reached  by  a  long 
and  dark  passage,  and  that  on  returning  with  the  halfpenny 
earned  by  his  enterprise  he  found  the  door  of  the  passage 
shut.  He  was  too  small  to  open  it,  and  in  the  darkness  a 
dog  began  to  growl,  causing  him  the  extreme  of  terror. 

The  subsequent  verification  of  some  of  the  forgotten 
circumstances  recalled  in  this  dream  placed  it  beyond  doubt 
the  engram-complex  was  here  revealed  whose  subterranean 
activity  had  played  so  baleful  a  part  in  the  patient's  life. 
We  need  add  to  the  story  only  one  more  item,  but  one  of 
extreme  importance.  As  soon  as  the  origin  of  the  patient's 
irrational  terrors  was  disclosed  they  ceased  to  plague  him. 
He  was  able  for  the  first  time  to  sit  in  a  theatre  and  to  travel 
in  a  tube  railway  train  with  comfort .  Thus  was  illustrated  one 
of  the  tenets  of  the  Freudian  doctrine — namely,  that  a  repressed 
complex,  when  once  the  resistances  which  kept  it  submerged 
are  broken  down,  generally  loses  its  nocuous  power.1 

(There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  evidence  summarized  in 
this  chapter  both  confirms  and  enriches  the  general  view  of 
the  organism  which  we  adopted  at  the  outset.  In  particular 
it  tends  to  correct  common  errors  and  prejudices  with  respect 
to  the  significance  of  consciousness  in  human  behaviour. 

1  Dr:  Rivera  at  first  hesitated  to  subscribe  to  this  view,  thinking  it 
possible  that  the  alleged  "cathartic"  effect  of  psycho-analysis  may  really 
be  due  to  suggestion :  for  the  patient  has  been  made  to  believe  that  when  the 
complex  is  discovered  he  will  be  cured.  He  appears  to  have  become  later 
more  friendly  to  the  orthodox  view.  It  is  more  important  to  record  Rivers' s 
conviction  that  his  experiences  with  shell-shocked  soldiers  definitely  refute 
the  Freudian  dogma  that  all  repressed  complexes  originate  in  infantile 
'  sexuality.     The  origin  of  Freud's  belief  is,  he  holds,  to  be  found  in  the  fact 

(that  the  widerange  of  impulses  covered  by  the  term  "sexual"  in  the 
Freudian  school  are  those  which  are  most  commonly  suppressed  in  the  con- 
ditions of  peaceful  civilized  life.  In  war  the  soldier  is  called  upon  to  sup- 
press impulses  belonging  to  an  equally  primitive  and  powerful  set  of  ten- 
dencies— namely,  those  connected  with  fear.  It  is  interesting  to  note  that 
the  patient  whose  case  is  described  in  the  text  was  treated  unsuccessfully 
by  an  amateur  Freudian  analyst  before  the  war. 


RELATIONS  BETWEEN  HORME  AND  MNEME  53 

Consciousness  is,  as  we  have  said,  the  form  in  which  self- 
assertion,  whether  conservative  or  creative,  reaches  the  highest 
level  of  perfection  as  yet  exhibited  in  animate  creatures. 
As  such  it  has  a  significance  and  a  value  which  it  would  be 
perverse  to  depreciate.  Nevertheless,  it  is,  from  the  biological 
standpoint,  only  one  of  the  organism's  means  of  conducting 
that  intercourse  with  the  environment  by  which  and  in  which 
it  lives.  Consciousness  marks  the  growing-point  of  our  higher 
activities,  the  edge  by  which  they  "  cut  into  reality."  Behind 
this  point,  this  edge,  there  is  a  vast  hormic  organization  of 
which  a  great  part  is  never  represented  directly  in  conscious- 
ness, while,  of  the  residue,  much  that  has  once  been  conscious 
can  never  normally  and  in  its  own  character  reach  the  con- 
scious level  again.  Nevertheless,  the  movements  of  con- 
sciousness, subserving  the  organism's  perpetual  self-assertion, 
are  never  wholly  explicable  apart^  from  this  organization, 
whose  history  and  constitution  they  express  in  an  infinite 
variety  of  subtle  ways. 

We  have  already  referred  (at  the  end  of  Chap.  III.)  to  the 
influence  of  early-formed  complexes  upon  the  ultimate  fashion 
of  a  man's  individuality.  So  far  as  this  influence  is  expressed 
in  "habit  "  we  need  not  discuss  it;  for  William  James  has 
preached  upon  that  subject  what  has  been  called  the  finest 
psychological  sermon  in  any  language,1  and  we  will  not  essay 
the  hopeless  task  of  improving  on  him.  Recent  research, 
particularly  by  the  psycho-analysts,  has,  however,  thrown 
into  relief  certain  related  phenomena,  whose  educational 
importance  is  so  great  that  some  consideration  must  be  given 
to  them. 

Dr.  Ernest  Jones  observes  that  he  has  succeeded  by  psycho- 
analysis in  tracing  back  the  impulses  that  led  many  of  his 
patients  to  enter  upon  their  professions  or  occupations  to 
repressed  infantile  interests  directed  towards  anti-social  con- 

1  It  will  be  found  in  chap.  iv.  of  the  "  Principles  of  Psychology  "  and  in  \ 
ch.  viii.  of  "  Talks  to  Teachers."  \ 


54    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

duct  or  unseemly  objects.  His  cases  cover  a  wide  range,  for 
they  include  a  well-known  constructor  of  canals  and  bridges, 
an  architect,  a  sculptor,  a  type-moulder,  and  a  chef.  He 
admits  that  other  factors  besides  the  unconscious  agents  he 
has  in  view  helped  to  determine  the  choice  of  occupation  in 
these  cases,  but  maintains  that  "  external  inducements  and 
opportunities  .  .  .  important  as  they  may  seem  to  the 
casual  observer,  are  often  but  the  pretext  for  the  expression 
of  some  submerged  primary  craving." 

There  can  be  little  doubt  that  unconscious  factors  of  this 
kind  have,  as  Dr.  Jones  says,  remarkable  tenacity,  vigour 
and  durability,  and  that  they  control  the  direction  of  adult 
interest  to  a  degree  that  is  very  insufficiently  appreciated. 
The  most  important  thing  to  note  is  the  way  in  which  the 
energy  belonging  to  these  persistent  impulses  may  be  trans- 
ferred, as  in  the  cases  mentioned  by  Jones,  from  their  primary 
and  generally  undesirable  fields  of  interest,  to  others  of  uniin- 
/peachable  character  and  often  of  high  value.  This  transfer- 
ence is  called  "sublimation,"  and  is  justly  regarded  by 
Freudian  writers  as  a  process  deserving  the  careful  attention 
of  all  who  have  to  do  with  the  upbringing  of  children.  Sub- 
limation, it  should  be  understood,  does  not  mean  the  mere 
shifting  of  a  stream  of  general  energy  from  one  direction 
to  another — as  when  a  young  man  transfers  to  war  or  finance 
the  energy  he  has  hitherto  wasted  on  "  the  little  emptiness  of 
love."  It  is  the  recomposition  into  a  new  hierarchy  of  definite 
hormic  factors — Dr.  Jones  calls  them"  biological  components  " 
— of  which  each  bears  its  own  specific  energy  and  carries  that 
!  energy  with  it  into  the  worthier  complex.  The  teacher  who 
;has  the  insight  to  detect  the  unsatisfied  hormic  factors  beneath 
the  surface  of  a  child's  or  a  youth's  conscious  life,  and  can  con- 
trive to  draft  them  into  worthy  and  satisfying  modes  of  self- 
assertion,  may  often  save  for  society  a  useful  and  vigorous  in- 
dividuality that  would  otherwise  be  lost.  This  is,  we  may 
remark,  the  secret  of  the  success  in  reclaiming  "  young  de- 


RELATIONS  BETWEEN  HORME  AND  MNEME  55 

linquents  "  that  was  attained  in  the  Little  Commonwealth, 
whose  superintendent,  Mr.  Homer  Lane,  has  traced  with 
profound  psychological  insight  the  steps  by  which  the  uncom- 
pensated repression  of  natural  impulses  in  childhood  often 
leads  to  social  outlawry  in  adult  life.1    It  is,  in  fact,  unques- 
tionable that  the  records  of  psycho-analysis  greatly  strengthen!  } 
the  argument  for  making  the  autonomous  development  of  the  | 
individual  the  central  aim  of  education.    They  reveal  in  I 
what  dim  depths  the  foundations  of  individuality  are  laid,  \ 
how  endlessly  varied  are  its  natural  forms,  and  how  disastrous 
it  may  sometimes  be  to  force  upon  the  growing  character  a  / 
form  discordant  with  its  principle  of  unity. 

If  it  be  asked  why  this  truth  has  so  long  been  ignored 
and  is  still  so  rarely  recognized,  the  answer  is  that,  in  ordinary 
cases,  the  sublimation  of  the  rebellious  or  undesirable  impulses 
of  childhood  takes  place  without  difficulty  under  the  normal 
conditions  of  home  and  school  life.  The  child  grows  simply 
and  easily  into  one  of  the  stock  patterns  of  humanity.  On 
the  other  hand,  every  school  has  its  problems  in  the  form  of 
boys  or  girls  who  "  get  across  "  their  teachers  or  their  fellows, 
and  are  obstinately  unresponsive  to  instruction  or  in  other 
ways  out  of  touch  with  the  influences  of  the  school  society. 
The  short  way  of  dealing  with  these  divergents — the  process 
called  "  licking  them  into  shape  " — has  rarely  more  than  a 
superficial  success  and  often  produces  lasting  harm;  for  it 
touches  only  the  symptoms,  not  the  causes  of  the  trouble. 
The  causes  are,  more  often  than  we  suppose,  deep-seated 
impulses  which  have  not  found  healthy  modes  of  expression, 
and,  their  cruder  manifestations  being  necessarily  suppressed, 
sometimes  prompt  the  child  to  rebellious  outbursts  incom- 
prehensible even  to  himself,  sometimes  make  him  unteachable 
or  "  unclubbable."  In  extreme  instances  the  effect  of  re- 
pressed and  unsublimated  impulses  may  even  be  to  isolate  a 

1  See,  for  example,  his  article  on  "  The  Faults  and  Misdemeanours  of 
Children"  in  the  "  Report  of  the  Couforence  on  New  Ideals  in  Education  " 
for  1915  (published  by  the  Secretary,  24,  Royal  Avenue,  Chelsea,  S.W.). 


56    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

child  for  all  practical  purposes  from  the  life  of  his  fellows. 
An  instance  of  this  kind  has  been  described  to  the  writer  by 
a  highly  competent  observer — namely,  the  case  of  an  elemen- 
tary school  girl  who,  at  the  age  of  thirteen,  had  learnt  neither 
to  read  nor  to  write,  and  had  never  been  known  to  speak 
voluntarily  at  school,  but  who,  when  removed  to  an  environ- 
ment where  free  expansion  was  permitted,  revealed  intellectual 
ability  far  above  the  average  and  rapidly  developed  strong 
and  characteristic  interests. 

No  period  of  youth  escapes  these  disturbances  of  its  peace, 
but  they  are  especially  likely  to  vex  the  early  years  of  adoles- 
cence. New  stirrings  then  arise  that  may  easily  conflict  with 
older  systems  of  impulses  which  still  persist  in  "  the  uncon- 
scious," and  so  cause  an  inner  discordance  which  only  sub- 
limation can  resolve.  The  strongest  part  of  the  case  for 
universal  continuation  schools  is  that,  under  the  conditions 
of  modern  life,  they,  and  they  only,  can  provide  for  the  great 
majority  of  our  boys  and  girls  the  means  by  which  that  sub- 
limation can  be  safely  accomplished  and  the  conflict  of  adoles- 
cence issue  in  a  character  at  peace  with  itself  and  in  full  com- 
mand of  its  potential  forces.1  For  the  continuation  school,  if 
properly  administered,  will,  on  the  one  hand,  open  fields  of 
interest  for  the  intellectual  and  aesthetic  impulses  that  the 
conditions  of  industrial  employment  too  often  stifle  and  repress, 
and,  on  the  other  hand,  provide  a  healthy  social  life  to  receive 
and  give  form  to  the  energies  which,  in  accordance  with  the 
inevitable  law  of  human  growth,  are  beginning  to  turn  from 
I  their  original  objective,  the  home.  The  paucity  of  opportuni- 
ties of  this  kind  for  the  bulk  of  our  young  population  has  no 
doubt  caused  an  immense  loss  of  individual  happiness  and 
social  wealth,  and  is  largely  responsible  for  the  "  failure  of 
civilization  "  which  present-day  moralists  are  wont  to  deplore. 

1  See  Bompas  Smith,  "Problems  of  the  Urban  Continuation  School," 
in  the  "  Report  of  the  Conference  on  New  Ideals  in  Education  *'  for  1917. 


RELATIONS  BETWEEN  HORME  AND  MNEME     57 


NOTES  ON  BOOKS,  ETC. 

Bernard  Hart's  little  book,  "The  Psychology  of  Insanity"  (Camb. 
Univ.  Press,  1912),  is  a  popular  but  sound  introduction  to  the  study  of 
"complexes,"  written  by  a  leading  psychiatrist.  (It  should  be  noted  that 
Dr.  Hart  applies  the  term  "complex,"  as  it  is  applied  in  this  book,  to  all 
mnemic  structures  of  the  type  described  above,  pp.  35-6,  while  most  writers 
limit  it — in  the  present  author's  opinion,  unfortunately — to  morbid  struc- 
tures and  those  that  cause  "irrational"  behaviour.)  Ernest  Jones, 
"PaperB  on  Psycho- Analysis "  (Bailliere,  Tindall  and  Cox,  2nd  edition, 
1918),  is  the  best  comprehensive  introduction  to  the  works  of  Freud,  and 
has  also  great  original  value.  Maurice  Nicoll,  "  Dream  Psychology  '* 
(Oxford  Univ.  Press,  1917)  is  a  popular  study  of  the  distinctive  features  of 
Jung's  views,  which  are  given  at  length  in  C.  G.  Juno,  "Collected  Papers 
on  Analytical  Psychology"  (tr.  C.  Long ;  Bailliere,  Tindall  and  Cox,  1916). 
W.  A.  White,  "Mechanisms  of  Character  Formation"  (The  Macmillan 
Co.,  1916),  is  a  useful  general  review  of  the  ideas  of  the  psycho-analytical 
school.  O.  Pfister,  "The  Method  of  Psycho-Analysis"  (tr.  Payne; 
Kogan  Paul,  1918),  is  a  much  more  detailed  work  giving  special  considera- 
tion to  educational  applications. 


CHAPTER  VI 

ROUTINE  AND  RITUAL 

The  activities  of  humanity,  we  have  said,  may  be  broadly 
classified  as  either  conservative  or  creative:  conservative 
when  their  aim  is  to  preserve  in  the  face  of  a  changing  situation 
some  status  quo  ante,  creative  when  their  aim  is  some  positive 
new  achievement.  The  distinction  must  not  be  confounded 
with  the  distinction  between  horme  and  mneme.  Men  often 
throw  their  energies  most  strongly  into  the  maintenance  of 
what  is  and  show  only  a  lukewarm  interest  in  what  might  be. 
In  short,  conservative  and  creative  activities  are  equally 
natural,  and  in  a  sense  equally  important  expressions  of 
human  energy,  though,  taking  a  long  view,  we  must  no  doubt 
think  of  the  former  as  existing  for  the  sake  of  the  latter. 

These  remarks  have  a  clear  educational  application.  A 
school  fails  to  fulfil  its  purpose  unless  it  is  a  place  where  the 
young  are  taught  to  accept  and  to  maintain  the  best-tested 
traditions  of  thought  and  action  handed  down  from  the  old 
time  before  them.  Again  it  fails  unless  it  serves  as  a  "  jump- 
ing-off  place  "  for  a  generation  trained  to  be  eager  for  new 
adventures  in  life.  This  statement  would  be  paradoxical  if 
youth  were  not  so  made  that  it  solves  ambulando  the  problem 
of  being  at  the  same  time  both  Tory  and  Radical.  The 
famous  pronouncement  of  the  sentry  in  Iolanthe, 

That  every  boy  and  every  gal 

Who's  born  into  this  world  alive 
Is  either  a  little  Liberal 

Or  else  a  little  Conservative, 
58 


ROUTINE  AND  RITUAL  59 

needs,  in  fact,  important  qualification.  All  children  belong 
to  both  parties  and  intermingle  their  loyalties  without  any 
scruples.  We  propose  in  the  present  chapter  to  contemplate 
them  when  the  conservative  mood  is  most  pronounced,  in 
the  next  when  their  initiating  impulses  are  most  in  evidence. 

Let  us  begin,  then,  by  observing  that  the  irreverent 
radicalism  of  young  children  is  curiously  streaked  with  con- 
servatism of  a  pronounced  and  uncompromising  type.  Ruth- 
less disturbers  of  our  peace,  irrepressible  questioners  of  our  way 
of  life,  children  are  yet  great  sticklers  for  law,  order,  and 
propriety,  and  so  tenacious  of  tradition  that  their  favourite 
toys  are  among  the  most  venerable  monuments  of  civilization, 
and  their  customary  games  the  last  stronghold  of  faiths  that 
swayed  mankind  when  the  world  was  young.  Every  woman 
who  has  taken  charge  of  another's  nursery  knows  how  serious 
a  matter  it  is  to  disregard  the  established  precedents  in  washing 
and  dressing,  to  violate  the  ritual  of  mealtime  and  bedtime  ; 
and  any  one  who,  in  telling  children  a  familiar  story,  care- 
lessly takes  liberties  with  the  text  will  promptly  be  made 
aware  of  the  magnitude  of  his  indiscretion. 

In  behaviour  of  this  pattern  there  is  something  more  than 
mere  resistance  to  change;  there  is  an  active  reassertion  of 
the  past,  a  positive  love  of  repetition  of  the  familiar.  Favour- 
ite games  of  infancy,  such  as  "  Ring  a  ring  of  roses  "  or  "  Here 
we  come  gathering  nuts  and  may,"  exemplify  that  love — 
which  we  may  conveniently  refer  to  as  the  M  routine  tendency  " 
— both  in  the  actions  and  in  the  accompanying  jingles;  while 
for  an  illustration  of  the  same  factor  in  favourite  stories  it  is 
enough  to  mention  that  classic  of  the  nursery,  Southey's 
masterpiece, "  The  Three  Bears." 

The  crude  repetition  which  forms  the  salt  of  so  many 
childish  amusements  becomes,  when  elaborated  andrefined,  the 
rhythmic  repetition  of  the  dance,  the  song,  the  ballad,  the  ode, 
and  other  forms  of  art.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  love 
of  rhythmic  repetition  springs  from  sources  almost  as  deep 


60    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

as  life  itself.  Rhythm  rules  in  physiological  activity,  in 
breathing,  in  the  circulation,  in  muscular  action,  in  anabolism 
and  katabolism.  In  many  ways,  obvious  or  hidden,  the  life 
of  man  moves  obedient  to  the  cosmic  rhythms  of  the  day 
and  the  year.  It  is  natural,  then,  that  the  perception  and 
creation  of  rhythm  should  be  enjoyable  and  should,  among 
other  things,  play  an  important  role  in  the  evolution  of  art. 
It  is  not  surprising  to  find  that  among  primitive  peoples  the 
rhythmic  element  in  music  is  often  highly  developed,  while  the 
harmonic  and  even  the  melodic  element  is  still  rudimentary. 
Much  the  same  was  true  of  Greek  music  and  for  the  same  reason 
— namely,  that  the  rhythm  of  music  comes  from  the  dance,  and 
dance-rhythms  are  only  the  physiological  rhythms  of  natural 
movement  elaborated  and  formalized.  The  repetition  and 
"  balance  "  of  pictorial  and  plastic  art  and  the  arts  of  weaving 
and  embroidery  are  but  expressions  of  the  same  factor  in  other 
media. 

The  modern  school,  following  more  closely  the  example 
of  the  Greeks,  would  do  well  to  exploit  more  consciously 
and  thoroughly  than  at  present  the  natural  love  of  rhythm. 
Teachers  of  "  eurhythmies  "  are  seeking  to  do  this  in  connec- 
tion with  dance-movement  and  musical  appreciation.  The 
simpler  and  less  technical  of  their  exercises  might,  with  great 
advantage,  be  taught  in  all  primary1  schools  if  only  for  the 
sake  of  fostering  good  manners,  and  the  dignity  and  grace  of 
movement  which  the  word  eurhythmia  (ivpuO/ila)  implied  to 
the  Greeks.  It  should  be  remembered,  too,  that  rhythm 
makes  appeal  to  the  reason  as  well  as  to  aesthetic  sensibility. 
In  the  teaching  of  geometry,  for  instance,  much  more  use 
might  be  made  of  the  powerful  and  satisfying  "principle  of 
symmetry." 

As  a  child  grows  older  the  whimsical  impulses  in  which 
the  routine  tendency  is  at  first  exhibited  shape  themselves 

1  This  terra,  wherever  it  occurs  in  the  following  pages,  means  any  school 
for  children  between  the  ages  of  six  and  twelve. 


ROUTINE  AND  RITUAL  Gl 

into  more  or  less  conscious  conformity  with  ideals  of  conduct 
and  social  order.    We  shall  deal  later  with  the  relation  of  the 
tendency  to  the  "  moral  sense,"  but  we  may  note  at  once  the 
importance  of  its  connection  with  the  problem  of  school  and 
classroom  order — or,  as  it  is  less  properly  called,  discipline. 
Professor  Graham  Wallas  has  remarked1  that  "half-con- 
scious imitation  .  .  .  makes  the  greater  part  of  classroom 
discipline."    The  statement   explains  the   form  taken  by 
school  and  classroom  order,  but  accounts  only  partially  for  its 
maintenance  as  a  permanent  feature  of  the  social  life.    To 
understand  this  fully  we  must  view  it  as  an  operation  of  the 
routine  tendency,  which,  when  a  way  of  life  has  once  been 
established,  works  powerfully  to  make  it  permanent.    The 
prudent  teacher  who  recognizes  this  fact  will  throw  upon  that 
tendency  the  main  part  of  the  burden  of  maintaining  order. 
He  will  first  take  care  that  the  business  of  the  school  or  the 
classroom  is  conducted  in  accordance  with  an  adequate  but 
simple  routine,  and  will  then  leave  it,  as  far  as  possible,  to 
"  run  itself."    He  will  not  check  developments  of  the  constitu- 
tion if  they  are  spontaneous  and  harmless,  but  will  abstain  from 
introducing  unnecessary  or  irritating  innovations  of  his  own. 
He  will  do  wisely  to  tolerate  even  an  unsatisfactory  constitution 
if  it  has  the  force  of  the  routine  tendency  behind  it,  and  to 
wait  patiently  and  work  cautiously  for  its  amendment.    His 
attitude  towards  rebels  will  not  be  that  of  an  autocrat  whose 
personal  will  has  been  flouted,  but  rather  the  attitude  of  one 
responsible  only  as  primus  inter  pares  for  the  maintenance  of  a 
customary  order  upon  which  the  convenience  of  all  depends. 
In  fine:  the  routine  tendency  should  be  allowed  to  act  in 
school,  as  in  the  wider  social  community,  like  the  flywheel 
whose  momentum  keeps  a  machine  in  orderly  motion,  over- 
comes obstacles  and  carries  it  past  the  "  dead-points,"  where 
the  prime  motive  forces  cease  for  an  instant  to  act. 

At  a  higher  level  of  activity  the  same  tendency  helps 
1  "  Human  Nature  in  Politics,"  p.  28. 


62    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

greatly  to  maintain  the  "tone"  and  the  "tradition"  in 
which  school  discipline,  as  distinguished  from  mere  order, 
may  properly  be  said  to  reside.  That  is,  it  helps  to  secure 
the  continuity  in  the  school  of  a  characteristic  ethos  and  of  a 
social  custom  touched  with  emotion — things  which  affect, 
often  in  the  strongest  manner,  the  young  minds  that  are 
steeped  for  sufficient  time  in  their  influence.  Here  we  have 
exemplified  on  a  small  scale  the  phenomena  of  "  social 
heredity,"  whose  most  impressive  manifestation  is  the  sur- 
vival of  nations,  like  Serbia  or  the  Ukraine,  after  centuries 
of  submergence. 

If  conservation,  in  the  active  form  of  the  routine  tendency, 
is  so  conspicuous  in  early  life,  it  is  natural  to  suspect  that  it 
has  for  the  young  a  utility  distinct  from  its  utility  to  the  old. 
The  suspicion  is  well  founded.  Old  age  clings  to  the  familiar 
and  the  customary  because  it  has  no  longer  the  energy  needed 
to  open  out  new  paths  of  thought  and  action ;  its  self-assertion 
is  reduced  to  self-maintenance  in  the  face  of  a  world  growing 
always  more  intractable.  In  childhood,  on  the  contrary,  the 
routine  tendency  is  an  expression  of  superabundant  activity. 
The  child  hungers  to  use  his  growing  powers  of  body  and 
mind,  but  his  repertory  of  accomplishments  is  narrowly 
limited;  he  loves,  therefore,  to  repeat  the  familiar,  because  he 
gets  from  it  the  fullest  sense  of  effective  self-assertion. 

This  observation  has  great  practical  importance.  Modern 
teachers  in  their  zeal  for  cultivating  the  "  self-activity  "  of 
children  are  prone  to  neglect  the  significance  of  the  routine 
tendency.  Reacting  too  far  from  unintelligent  practices  of 
former  days,  they  avoid  the  repetition  of  the  familiar,  dis- 
missing it  as  "  mechanical  "  or  as  "  mere  memory  work,"  with 
the  implication  that  it  is  somehow  out  of  place  in  modern 
methods.  They  forget  that  children  delight  in  it  for  the 
sound  biological  reason  that  it  is  an  indispensable  means  to 
mastery  of  their  little  world.  The  young  teacher  may,  then, 
safely  disregard  the  view  that  the  repetition  of  "  tables," 


ROUTINE  AND  RITUAL  63 

dates,  grammatical  paradigms,  arithmetical  or  algebraic 
operations  is  unpedagogical  because  it  has  to  be  forced  upon 
unwilling  nature.  The  child  who  rejoices  in  his  power  to 
repeat  the  jingle  "  Ena,  dena,  dina,  do  "  will  not  fail  to 
delight  in  a  mastery  over  more  serious  forms  of  routine. 

This  consideration  does  not,  of  course,  absolve  the  teacher 
from  the  duty  of  making  an  intelligent  use  of  the  child's  love 
of  repetition.  Dates  should  be  memorized  in  order  to  support, 
as  by  a  firm  chronological  skeleton,  a  body  of  historical  in- 
formation and  ideas  that  would  otherwise  be  vague  and  in- 
coherent; the  recitation  of  grammatical  routines  should  be 
employed  to  fix  knowledge  abstracted  from  concrete  linguistic 
usages;1  the  mastery  of  algebraic  manipulation  should  sub- 
serve immediately  the  needs  of  mathematical  thought  and 
should  not  outrun  them;  and  so  on  in  other  cases.  It  has 
been  suggested  that  the  memorizing  of  verse  and  prose  does 
not  fall  under  this  rule,  and  that  the  child's  immediate  plea- 
sure in  routine-action  may  legitimately  be  exploited  as  a 
means  of  storing  his  mind  with  passages  whose  meaning  and 
literary  worth  he  cannot  be  expected  to  appreciate  for  several 
years.  The  soundness  of  the  opinion  is  questionable.  It  is 
true  that  a  literary  masterpiece,  however  simple  in  form,  often 
has  depths  of  significance  and  beauty  beyond  the  reach  of 
young  minds.  Unless,  however,  it  has  some  intelligible 
message  for  them,  it  is  highly  doubtful  whether  the  routine 
tendency  should  be  set  to  work  on  it. 

The  foregoing  principles  have  an  equally  direct  bearing 
upon  the  pedagogy  of  the  arts  and  crafts.  An  excellent 
authority  has  urged  that  a  child  who  has  once  achieved  a  piece 
of  constructional  work  should  not  repeat  it,  but  should  move 
on  to  a  fresh  exercise,  involving  new  neuro-muscular  co- 
ordination and  leading  to  new  ideas.    He  is  surely  wrong  here. 

1  As  in  the  caso  of  the  "litanies"  described  in  R.  B.  Appleton,  "  Some 
Practical  Suggestions  on  the  Direct  Method  of  Teaching  Latin"  (Heffer 
and  Sons,  1913). 


64    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

As  we  shall  see  later,  mastery  of  one's  material  is  a  prime  con- 
dition of  aesthetic  "  self-expression  ";  no  solid  progress  in  the 
constructive  arts,  drawing  and  music,  is  possible  without  the 
constant  repetition  of  familiar  processes  until  one  has  them  at 
the  finger-ends.  The  only  qualification  this  statement  needs 
is  that  technical  exercises  should  never  be  merely  a  gramma- 
tical drill  isolated  from  creative  work.  Thus  the  beginner's 
"  five-finger  exercises  "  and  corresponding  exercises  in  sing- 
iDg  should  always  be  melodious;  and  the  mastery  of  con- 
structional technique  should  be  acquired  by  making  things 
that  are  desirable  in  themselves.  At  a  later  stage  technical 
exercises,  such  as  practice  in  joint-making  in  carpentry  or  in 
button-holing  in  needlework,  may  take  a  more  abstract  form; 
but  they  should  always  be  of  the  nature  of  "  studies  "  for 
substantive  constructional  work  which  the  young  craftsman 
or  craftswoman  has  immediately  in  view. 

We  turn  now  to  another  type  of  routine-actions  of  which 
we  have  familiar  instances  in  the  ceremonies  used  in  laying  a 
foundation-stone,  at  weddings,  at  the  coronation  of  a  king,  and 
in  the  office  of  the  Mass.  The  character  and  sequence  of  such 
routines  are  often  jealously  preserved  and  faithfully  trans- 
mitted through  long  periods  of  time,  but  they  are  clearly 
distinct  in  their  functions  from  those  we  have  hitherto  studied. 
Those  routine-actions  had  substantive  value — that  is,  the 
actions  were  in  themselves  desirable  and  desired.  The  value 
of  these  consists  not  in  themselves,  but  in  what  they 
symbolize.  In  brief,  their  biological  utility  lies  in  their  power 
of  arousing  in  actors  and  spectators,  as  often  as  they  are 
repeated,  states  of  feeling  or  emotion  that  are  frequently 
of  great  social  importance. 

The  most  convenient  name  for  these  symbolic  routine- 
actions  is  ritual.  Ritual  fills  in  the  life  even  of  the  sober 
Englishman  a  place  larger  than  is  commonly  recognized; 
but  the  ritual  observances  of  the  most  emotional  civilized 
people  are  only  shreds  and  patches  of  the  elaborate  practices 


ROUTINE  AND  RITUAL  65 

of  primitive  tribes.1  For  instance,  May  Day  lites,  now 
scarcely  more  than  a  memory  in  this  country,  are  remnants 
of  ancient  festivals  which,  though  taking  different  forms 
among  forest-dwellers,  agricultural  folk  and  pastoral  people, 
were  always  mimetic  shows  of  "  the  seasons'  difference,"  con- 
ventionalized, and  fixed  in  form  by  a  sacred  tradition.  They 
were  enormously  important  to  the  public  welfare;  for,  as 
everybody  knew,  the  ritual,  duly  performed,  had  power  to 
compel  the  earth  to  bring  forth  its  kindly  fruits  in  due  season. 
The  modern  sociologist,  who  has  other  views  on  agricultural 
science,  must  still  admit  the  psychological  efficacy  of  the  rites. 
For  if  they  did  not  directly  make  the  corn  grow,  they  did  so 
indirectly  by  transmuting  vague  anxiety  about  the  food 
supply  into  an  exalted  corporate  emotion  that  could  not  fail 
to  inspirit  and  co-ordinate  individual  effort. 

Good  authorities  maintain  that  both  theology  and  art 
took  their  beginnings  from  ritual  observances  of  this  kind. 
For  example,  it  is  suggested  by  Miss  Jane  Harrison  that 
belief  in  the  god  Dionysos  may  have  sprung  from  a  vivid  way 
of  conceiving  the  common  and  therefore  permanent  elements 
in  the  yearly  rite  of  "  carrying  in  the  summer."  Where 
a  may-pole  was  the  centre  of  the  rite  he  would  be  conceived  as 
a  Tree-god,  where  a  holy  bull  was  the  focus  of  the  ritual  as 
a  Bull-god,  and  so  on.  When  life  became  easier  and  the  social 
structure  more  complicated,  the  practice  of  the  ritual  would 
tend  to  become  a  professional  business  rather  than  a  universal 
obligation.  In  this  way  the  rites  of  Dionysos  seem  to  have 
developed  into  that  wonderful  and  sophisticated  thing,  the 
Greek  tragedy;  that  is  to  say,  ritual  passed  into  art.  Nor  is 
this  statement  to  be  restricted  to  the  drama  and  the  arts 
immediately  connected  therewith.  To  a  large  extent,  we  are 
told,  Greek  sculptural  art  "  comes  out  of  ritual,  has  ritual 

1  See  Dr.  W.  H.  Rivers',  "The  Todaa"  (Macmillan,  1906)  for  a  striking 
account  of  the  immense  importance  of  ritual  observance  in  the  life  of  a 
primitive  people;  also  Spencer  and  Gillen,  "Tho  Native  Tribes  of  Central 
Australia"  (Macmillan,  1899). 

S 


66    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

as  its  subject,  is  embodied  ritual  " ;  while  even  "  drawing  is  at 
bottom,  like  all  the  arts,  a  kind  of  gesture,  a  method  of  dancing 
on  paper,"  and  is  therefore  derived  in  the  long  run  from 
ritual.1  Meanwhile  among  simpler  or  ignorant  people  the 
ancient  rites,  often,  it  is  true,  sadly  maimed,  have  persisted 
side  by  side  with  their  cultivated  derivatives  and  continue  to 
perform  their  primitive  function  as  magical  practices  or  as 
vehicles  of  lively  social  emotions.  We  still  break  a  bottle 
of  wine  over  a  newly-launched  ship  "  for  luck,"  the  Swabian 
peasant  still  leaps  high  over  his  hemp  so  that  it  may  grow  tall, 
while  in  the  Christian  villages  of  Thrace,  the  original  home  of 
Dionysos,  "  a  drama  is  still  annually  performed  which  repro- 
duces with  remarkable  fidelity  some  of  the  most  striking  traits 
in  the  Dionysiac  myth  and  ritual."2 

To  suppose  that  modern  art  and  religion  draw  their 
strength  exclusively  or  even  largely  from  these  ancient  sources 
would  be  to  make  a  profound  error.  Nevertheless,  if  there 
is  any  validity  in  the  recapitulation-theory  (p.  39),  ritual, 
properly  employed,  should  still  have  an  important  function  in 
school-life.  The  success  of  such  revivals  as  historical 
pageants  in  honour  of  the  genius  loci  of  some  ancient  city  or 
shire,  the  annual  performance  of  mystery-plays,  village  dance- 
festivals,  and  other  reactions  from  the  drabness  of  nineteenth- 
century  life,  shows  that  even  in  the  greater  world  ritual  retains 
its  power  to  communicate  and  exalt  feeling  among  masses  of 
people.  We  may,  therefore,  with  greater  confidence  give  it  a 
larger  place  in  the  education  of  the  young,  using  it  as  a  means 
of  intensifying  and  purifying  social  emotion.  The  main  con- 
ditions of  success  are  that  the  occasions  shall  be  worthy  and 
the  expression  sincere.  Athletic  festivals  fulfil  the  second 
condition,  but  occasions  better,  or  at  least  more  varied  may 
easily  be  found.    The  seasons  are  still  venerable  deities  whom 

1  This  explanation  has  been  applied  to  the  wonderful  drawings  of 
the  cave-men  of  Altamira.     See  Sollas,  "Ancient  Hunters." 

a  J.  G.  Frazer,  "  Spirits  of  the  Corn  and  Wild"  (pt.  v.  of  the  "  Golden 
Bough"),  vol.  i.,  pp.  25-9. 


ROUTINE  AND  RITUAL  67 

children  will  delight  to  honour  by  song,  procession  and  ritual 
dance.1  For  older  boys  and  girls  the  festivals  may  be  asso- 
ciated with  important  events  in  school-life — such  as  the 
appointment  of  prefects  andthe  dismissal  of  senior  scholars  into 
the  world — or  with  civic  and  national  interests  and  history. 
In  all  cases  it  is  important  that  the  ritual  should  not  bear  too 
obviously  the  stamp  of  external  authority,  but  should,  as  far 
as  possible,  be  crystallized  and  refined  from  spontaneous 
movements  among  the  citizens  of  the  school  society.  It 
should  give  work  for  the  young  poets,  musicians,  actors  and 
craftsfolk,  and  should  provide  a  place  for  the  ungifted  girl 
or  boy  who  can  only  carry  a  flower  or  join  in  a  chorus.  We 
may  add  that  valuable  hints  with  regard  to  suitable  occasions 
and  forms  of  ritual  may  be  derived  from  a  study  of  the  cere- 
monies prescribed  for  use  among  "  wolf  cubs "  and  boy 
scouts. 

NOTES  ON  BOOKS,  ETC. 

J.  Sully,  "Studies  of  Childhood"  (Longmans,  new  ed.  1903)  gives  a 
pleasing  account  of  the  facts  referred  to  at  the  beginning  of  the  chapter. 
The  quotations  towards  the  end  are  mostly  from  Miss  Jane  Harrison's 
little  book,  "Ancient  Art  and  Ritual"  (Home  Univ.  Library,  1914). 
C.  Delislb  Burns,  "  Greek  Ideals  "  (Bell,  1917),  gives  a  vivid  picture  of  the 
importance  of  public  ceremonial  in  ancient  Athenian  life.  F.  H.  Hayward 
and  A.  Freeman,  "The  Spiritual  Foundations  of  Reconstruction"  (P.  S. 
King,  1919),  deal  specially  with  the  use  of  ritual  in  school-life,  but  appeared 
too  late  to  be  consulted. 

1  The  May  Day  festival  seems  to  be  growing  in  popularity  in  London 
Elementary  Schools,  and  is  often  made  a  means  of  valuable  culture  in 
manners,  music  and  dancing. 


CHAPTER  VII 

PLAY 

The  creative  activities  of  youth  have,  like  the  conservative, 
a  typical  and  pronounced  form  of  manifestation.    It  is  play. 

The  spirit  of  play  is  an  intangible  and  elusive  sprite,  whose 
influence  is  to  be  found  in  corners  of  life  where  it  might  least 
be  expected.  Everyone  agrees,  however,  that  childhood  is 
her  peculiar  sphere,  and  that  she  manifests  her  presence  there 
in  activities  whose  special  mark  is  their  spontaneity — that  is, 
their  relative  independence  of  external  needs  and  stimuli. 
It  is  for  this  reason  that  play  is  commonly  interpreted  as  an 
expression  of  "superfluous  energy."  During  childhood  and 
youth,  it  is  said,  the  organism  has  at  its  disposal  more  energy, 
both  physical  and  psychical,  than  it  needs  either  for  mere 
self-maintenance  or  for  physical  growth,  and  it  expends  the 
surplus  largely  in  the  form  of  play. 

Upon  this  view  a  child  at  play  may  be  likened  to  a  locomo- 
tive engine  which  has  taken  from  the  coal  more  energy  than 
is  needed  to  draw  the  train  and  is  therefore  compelled  to 
"  let  off  steam."  The  analogy  is,  however,  defective  in  one 
important  respect.  In  the  modern  railway  engine  some  of  the 
energy  not  required  for  locomotion  is  employed  to  exhaust 
the  vacuum  brakes  and  warm  the  carriages.  Without  much 
extravagance  of  fancy  we  might  suppose  this  use  of  the  super- 
fluous energy  to  be  considerably  extended.  For  example, 
the  driver,  instead  of  blowing  off  steam  in  a  station,  might 
direct  it  to  a  small  rotary  press  in  the  guard's  van,  where  a  few 
copies  of  the  next  month's  time-table  might  be  printed.     But 

68 


PLAY  69 

the  liveliest  imagination  cannot  conceive  it  as  used  to  improve 
the  engine  itself,  to  make  the  boiler  tubes  more  efficient,  or  to 
increase  the  harmony  of  relations  between  pistons,  cranks 
and  wheels.  Yet  in  the  psychophysical  organism  play  does 
something  precisely  comparable  with  this.  In  play — first 
the  play  of  arms  and  legs  and  fingers  as  the  babe  lies  in  his 
cradle,  then  run-about  play,  and  later  the  formal  games  of 
the  playground  and  the  field — the  child  gradually  enters 
into  possession  of  his  own  body,  and  raises  his  command  over 
it  to  the  highest  possible  power.  Again,  he  finds  and  exercises 
in  play  his  intellectual  gifts  and  powers,  and  often  discovers 
the  interests  that  are  to  fill  the  central  place  in  his  adult  life. 
Lastly,  it  is  a  commonplace  that,  just  as  of  old  the  Hellenic 
ideals  of  life  and  conduct  were  fostered  and  spread  by  the  great 
games  and  festivals,  so  to-day  many  a  boy  finds  and  estab- 
lishes his  moral  and  social  self  largely  in  the  corporate  games 
of  adolescence — a  statement  which  is  becoming  increasingly 
true  of  girls  also. 

These  familiar  facts  all  illuminate  a  single  truth — namely, 
that  the  play-activity  is  subject  to  the  general  law  that  spon- 
taneous activity,  when  not  baffled  or  obstructed  by  unfavour- 
able circumstances,  tends  always  towards  increasing  perfection 
of  form,  to  more  complete  expressiveness,  to  a  higher  degree  of 
unity  in  diversity.  Thus  we  are  led  to  the  idea  that  nature 
invented  play  not  merely  as  a  means  of  disposing  harmlessly 
of  the  young  animal's  superfluous  energy,  but  as  a  device  for 
using  that  energy  to  prepare  him  for  the  serious  business  of 
life. 

This  view  of  the  biological  utility  of  play  was  suggested  long 
ago  by  the  philosopher  Malebranche,1  but  was  first  fully  formu- 
lated and  defended  by  Karl  Groos.2  Groos's  theory  is  based 
upon  two  observations.  He  notes  first  that  play  is  confined 
to  animals  which  are  at  birth  not  sufficiently  developed  to 

See  Drever,  "  Instinct  in  Man,"  p.  33. 
2  In  "  The  Play  of  Animals,"  1896,  and  "  The  Play  of  Man,"  1898. 


70    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

face  the  difficulties  of  life  without  the  help  and  protection  of 
their  parents.  The  puppy,  born  blind  and  helpless,  enjoys 
some  months  of  undiluted  play;  the  chick,  who,  a  few  minutes 
after  he  is  hatched,  can  pick  up  a  grain  of  rice  or  tackle  a 
worm,  affects  ah  ovo  an  almost  puritanical  severity  of  be- 
haviour. Secondly,  Groos  bids  us  observe  that  when  an 
animal  plays  he  always  imitates  in  sport  what  will  be  the  serious 
activities  of  his  adult  days.  The  kitten  hunts  a  ball  of  wool 
as  he  will  later  hunt  a  mouse;  the  puppy  chases  and  dodges 
his  brother  as  he  will  some  day  chase  and  dodge  his  prey  or 
his  foe.  When  these  facts  have  once  been  perceived,  the 
interpretation  is  easy.  A  playful  youth  is  a  biological  device 
to  secure  to  the  higher  animals  an  efficient  equipment  for  the 
battle  of  life.  It  is  not  so  true,  says  Groos  epigrammatically, 
that  animals  play  while  they  are  young  as  that  they  are 
young  so  long  as  it  is  necessary  for  them  to  play,  in 
order  to  prepare  themselves  for  the  serious  business  of 
adult  life. 

There  is  no  difficulty  in  extending  this  explanation  to  the 
lay  of  childhood.  The  devotion  of  the  little  girl  to  her  doll 
is  the  capital  instance  of  a  playful  activity  which  is  plainly 
anticipatory  of  the  serious  business  of  adult  life.  A  similar 
interpretation  may  be  applied  to  other  games,  which  recur 
with  unbroken  regularity  in  every  generation  and  among 
children  of  every  colour.  There  is,  however,  in  respect  of  play, 
as  in  respect  of  all  mental  phenomena,  a  most  important  differ- 
ence between  man  and  the  lower  animals.  The  adult  activities 
of  these  are  relatively  few  and  relatively  constant  in  pattern. 
Consequently  the  play  of  each  species  is  stereotyped  and  shows 
little  variety.  On  the  other  hand,  the  adult  life  that  awaits 
the  child  is  very  largely  undetermined.  Nature,  therefore, 
while  she  bids  the  young  beast  rehearse  in  sport  just  those 
activities  which  he  will  certainly  use  come  day  in  earnest, 
prompts  the  boy  to  experiment  in  his  play  with  an  endless 
variety  of  possible  lives.    In  this  way  we  may  account  on  bio- 


, 


PLAY  71 

logical  principles  for  the  incessant  "  make-believe  "  which 
is  so  universal  a  characteristic  of  childhood. 

According  to  Karl  Groos,  then,  play,  biologically  con- 
sidered, is  anticipatory.  According  to  another  interpreter, 
Professor  Stanley  Hall,1  it  is  often  more  properly  to  be  regarded 
as  reminiscent.  In  his  view,  the  plays  of  childhood  are  simply 
incidents  in  the  recapitulation,  which  the  life  of  every  in- 
dividual exhibits,  of  the  history  of  the  race.  For  example,  the 
absorption  of  the  boy  of  nine  in  imaginary  hunting  and  blood- 
shed is,  like  the  characteristic  bodily  form  at  that  age,  a 
momentary  representation  of  a  pigmoid  or  Bushman  stage 
which  the  race  has  long  left  behind.  These  developmental 
incidents  may  have  no  more  direct  reference  to  adult  needs 
than  the  tail  of  the  tadpole  has  to  the  needs  of  the  frog. 
Nevertheless,  says  Stanley  Hall,  their  transitory  appearance 
in  due  course  is  necessary  to  a  healthy  manhood  just  as  the 
batrachian  must  produce  and  absorb  his  tadpole  tail  before 
he  can  settle  down  as  a  reputable  frog. 

When  we  ask  for  the  biological  reasons  why  the  play  of 
childhood  should  thus  keep  alive  the  memory  of  "  old  un- 
happy far-off  things  " — phases  in  the  racial  history  which  had 
better  be  forgotten — Stanley  Hall  tells  us  that  they  are  often 
cathartic  in  their  operation.  Man  cannot  shed  altogether 
the  ancient  tendencies  to  cruelty  and  vice,  but  play  is  at  once 
a  means  by  which  the  mischief  may  be  taken  out  of  them  and 
a  means  by  which  they  may  be  transformed  into  impulses 
of  ethical  value. 

In  Hall's  opinion  Groos's  account  of  the  subject  is  "  very 
partial,  superficial  and  perverse."  It  is,  nevertheless,  per- 
missible to  suggest  that  the  two  theories  are  complementary 
rather  than  opposed.  Thus  it  may  be  true  that  spontaneous 
play  often  derives  its  typical  features  from  the  adult  life  of 
distant  ages,  and  also  true  that  these  racial  memories  still  re- 
awaken in  each  generation  because  they  have  a  direct  value 
1  "  Adolescence,"  vol.  i.,  ch.  iii. 


72    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

for  the  adult  life  of  the  present  epoch.  Or,  putting  the  same 
point  in  another  way,  we  may  hold  that  the  atavistic  factors 
are  the  mnemic  basis  from  which  the  child's  forward-directed 
horme  proceeds,  while  the  "  cathartic  "  action  of  play  is  the 
sublimation  of  the  energies  associated  with  them. 

If  we  thus  assume  that  the  rival  theories  differ  chiefly 
in  emphasizing  different  aspects  of  what  is  at  bottom  a  single 
phenomenon,  we  shall  be  free  to  use  them  both  in  accordance 
with  their  relevance  to  particular  cases.  For  example, 
Stanley  Hall's  view  is  most  helpful  in  the  case  of  play  which, 
like  dancing  and  out-door  games,  is  fundamentally  a  motor 
phenomenon.  His  dictum  that  "  play  is  the  purest  expression 
of  motor  heredity  "  is  here  peculiarly  illuminating.  It  leads 
straight  to  the  idea  that  the  substitution  of  dancing,  eurhyth- 
mies and  acting  for  some  of  the  more  formal  physical  exercises 
may  not  only  help  the  Briton  to  take  his  pleasures  less  sadly, 
but  may  be  the  best  of  ways  of  securing  for  him  mastery  ovej: 
the  body  which  he  has  inherited  from  his  forbears.  More- 
over, it  gives  at  least  some  support  to  the  speculation  that 
our  native  dances,  now  being  rescued  with  the  old  folk-songs 
from  the  wreck  of  time,  may  be  a  better  medium  for  the 
physical  culture  of  the  young  Anglo-Saxon  than  the  saltatory 
idioms  of  the  Latin  races  or  the  Slavs. 

On  the  other  hand,  where  play  engages  the  intellect  rather 
than  the  body,  Groos's  interpretation  is  the  more  instructive 
and,  as  we  shall  see  later,  the  more  fruitful  from  the  standpoint 
of  the  educator. 

The  "superfluous  energy"  theory,  illuminating  as  it  is, 
does  not,  in  its  direct  form,  cover  all  the  ground. 

Consider,  for  example,  the  weary  child  who  forgets  his 
aching  legs  when  the  monotonous  walk  is  turned  into  a  game 
of  hide-and-seek,  or  the  tired  man  who  returns  to  his  work 
refreshed  from  a  game  of  billiards  or  golf.  It  is  clear  that  play 
is  in  these  cases  not  a  channel  of  discharge  for  superfluous 
energy,  but  a  means  by  which  new  energy  is  placed  at  the  dis- 


PLAY  73 

posal  of  the  organism.  Accordingto  the  common  explanation, 
the  efficacy  of  such  "  recreative  "  play  lies  in  the  fact  that  it 
uses  the  energy  of  fresh  tracts  of  the  nervous  system  and  gives 
the  exhausted  tracts  time  to  get  rid  of  the  chemical  poisons 
which  have  accumulated  in  them  and  to  make  good  their  losses 
by  anabolism.  The  examples  here  given,  especially  the  former, 
show  that  this  explanation  is  quite  insufficient.  Under  the 
influence  of  play,  the  child  not  only  continues  the  activity 
which  had  wearied  him,  but  actually  puts  twice  as  much 
vigour  into  it. 

It  is  probable  that  a  better  explanation  will  be  found  in  one 
of  the  many  profound  and  illuminating  ideas  which  psychology 
and  education  owe  to  Professor  W.  McDougall.  In  a  notable 
study  of  fatigue,1  McDougall  quotes  instances  to  prove  that 
the  energy  we  can  expend  upon  a  certain  kind  of  work  is  not 
necessarily  limited  to  the  energy  resident  in  the  nervous 
machinery  which  is  directly  concerned  in  its  production. 
Many  cases  of  long-sustained  activity  would  be  unintelligible 
unless  we  could  suppose  that  the  brain  structures  involved  in 
them  import  energy  from  sources  outside  themselves.2 
Further,  he  identifies  these  sources  with  certain  structures 
whose  functioning  is  believed  to  be  necessary  to  the  mani- 
festations of  the  innate  "  dispositions  "  (i.e.,  racial  engram- 
complexes),  which  are  the  great  springs  of  behaviour  both  in 
beasts  and  men.  It  may  be  suggested,  then,  that  in  recreative 
play  we  have  phenomena  essentially  the  same  as  those  which 
McDougall  describes.  The  task  which  the  appropriate  physio- 
logical mechanism  has  insufficient  energy  to  perform  is  con- 
quered by  means  of  energy  drawn  from  the  more  massive  in- 
herited engram-complexes.    So  the  hardships  of  a  river  picnic 

1    "Report  of  the  British  Association,"  1908 

8  McDougall  quotes  from  William  James  the  case  of  Colonel  Baird  Smith, 
who,  during  some  months  of  the  siege  of  Delhi,  hardly  ate  or  slept  or  rested 
in  any  way,  but  worked  almost  continuously  at  tremendous  pressure  without 
showing  or  feeling  fatigue.  This  example  could  be  paralleled  by  many  in- 
stances taken  from  the  Great  European  War. 


74    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

may  be  endured  joyfully  by  virtue  of  the  energy  derived  from 
a  mild  and  perfectly  conscious  flirtation.  So  the  boy  at  the 
bottom  of  the  class  can  perform  prodigies  of  learning  when  he 
is  fighting  for  his  side  in  a  Latin  match  between  opposing 
teams. 

It  will  be  profitable  to  restate  this  argument  in  a  way  more 
obviously  congruent  with  the  general  tenor  of  our  doctrine  of 
vital  activity.  We  are  concerned  with  movements  of  self- 
assertion  which  are  on  the  point  of  failure  because  the  im- 
pulses behind  them  are  obstructed  or  exhausted,  and  what 
we  see  is  that  such  movements  may  often  be  saved  from  ex- 
tinction by  being  transformed  or  absorbed  into  other  modes  of 
self-assertion,  whose  basis  in  the  organism's  disposition  is  more 
firmly  established  and  whose  energy  is  still  fresh.  Ex- 
pressed thus,  the  explanation  is  not  only  brought  into  an 
interesting  connection  with  the  theory  of  sublimation,  but 
is  also  seen  to  have  significance  for  education  far  beyond  the 
facts  of  recreative  play. 

The  types  of  play-activity  called  "  games  "  and  "  sports  " 
are  generally  spoken  of  as  recreation,  and  it  may  be  granted 
that  they  frequently  perform  the  function  we  have  ascribed 
to  recreative  play.  It  should,  however,  be  noted,  first,  that 
they  often  serve  merely  as  vehicles  for  the  direct  discharge  of 
superfluous  energy;  and,  secondly,  that  they  often  perform 
a  function,  distinct  both  from  this  and  from  recreation — a 
function  best  described  as  "  relaxation."  To  understand  the 
biological  meaning  of  relaxation,  we  must  first  observe  that 
games,  such  as  football  and  dancing,  and  sports,  such  as  hunt- 
ing and  fishing,  differ  from  inventive  or  imaginative  play — the 
former  in  that  they  are  activities  ruled  by  a  definite  formula  or 
routine,  the  latter  in  that  they  are  behaviour  coming  obviously 
under  Hall's  theory  of  atavistic  reversion.  They  are  alike, 
then,  in  being  activities  based  directly  upon  elements  deeply 
rooted  in  the  agent's  disposition.  In  other  words,  the  hormic 
systems  that  come  into  action  in  games  and  sports  are  always 


PLAY  75 

firmly  consolidated  and  are  often,  in  addition,  of  great  anti- 
quity. This  fact  accounts,  in  the  first  place,  for  the  readiness 
with  which  they  become  vehicles  for  the  discharge  of  super- 
fluous energy.  It  also  accounts  for  their  use,  both  by  adults 
and  by  young  people,  as  means  of  relaxation.  The  daily 
work  of  the  business  or  the  professional  man,  especially  in  a 
highly  organized  modern  community,  throws  a  great  strain 
upon  the  organism ;  for  it  involves  the  action  and  maintenance 
of  extremely  elaborate  and  artificial  hormic  systems.  From 
time  to  time,  therefore,  the  agent  seeks  relief  by  simplifying 
his  life — that  is,  by  turning  to  activities  that  involve  less  com- 
plex and  more  firmly  established  hormic  systems.  These  he 
finds  in  games  and  sports.  He  deserts  his  office  for  the  golf- 
links,  or  flees  from  his  "  practice  "  to  a  trout  stream  in  the 
quiet  depths  of  the  country .  For  the  same  reason  the  school-boy 
welcomes  the  moment  when  he  may  escape  from  the  oppressive 
labour  of  classroom  or  study  to  the  playing  field  or  the  river.1 
Changing  the  standpoint  we  have  now  to  inquire  what  are 
the  distinctive  marks  of  play  as  a  mode  of  experience.  The 
reply  frequently  given  is  that  play  is  activity  pursued  for  its 
own  sake  as  activity  and  without  regard  to  any  value  in  the 
product.  It  is  thus  contrasted  with  work,  in  which  the  activity 
is  pursued  for  the  sake  of  some  further  value  beyond  itself. 
We  must  concede  a  certain  validity  to  the  statement.  An 
adult  often  makes  this  distinction  between  his  work  and  his 
play,  and  even  young  children  may  be  obscurely  aware  of 
something  equivalent  to  it.  For  instance,  the  Directors  of  the 
Caldecott  Community2  remark  that  "  at  one  time  it  was  hoped 

1  See  G.  T.  Patkick,  "The  Psychology  of  Relaxation"  (Constable,  1916). 
This  writer  invokes  the  same  biological  conception  to  explain  the  present 
vogue  of  the  "photo-drama,"  the  psychological  function  of  profane  swearing, 
the  use  of  strong  drink,  and  the  periodic  relapse  of  civilized  peoples  into 
the  barbarism  of  war.  The  reader  may  attempt,  as  a  rider  on  the  foregoing 
argument,  to  account  himself  for  these  several  forms  of  "  relaxation." 

3  In  their  Report  for  1916-17  (obtainable  from  the  Secretary,  Charlton, 
near  East  Sutton,  Kent).  One  of  the  Directors,  Miss  Rendel,  has  con- 
tributed an  account  of  tho  Community  to  Clarke  Hall's  "  The  Child  and  the 
State"  (Headley,  1917). 


76    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

that  no  hard-and-fast  line  would  need  to  be  drawn  between 
work  and  play,  but  that  the  term  '  occupation  '  might  cover 
activities  of  study  and  playroom  alike.  A  certain  standard 
of  work,  however,  is  demanded  in  the  schoolroom,  even  by 
the  children  themselves,  whilst  during  playtime  no  standard  is 
required;  and  this  seems  to  constitute  the  essential  difference 
between  the  two." 

Interesting  and  important  as  this  observation  is,  we  must 
be  careful  as  to  what  general  conclusion  is  drawn  from  it. 
It  is  notorious,  for  example,  that  among  the  boys  and  some- 
times even  the  masters1  of  our  public  schools  it  is  play  rather 
than  work  that  is  felt  to  have  value  beyond  the  activity  itself, 
and  to  impose  upon  the  agent  a  high  standard  of  aim  and 
disciplined  effort.  And  among  adults  we  have  the  musicians 
and  actors,  who  accept  the  name  of  "  players  "  but  would 
resent  the  suggestion  that  their  activities  have  no  value  and 
are  unruled  by  standard  as  bitterly  and  as  justly  as  they  would 
the  implication  that  their  "  playing  "  is  not  work. 

These  are  npt  exceptional  or  unfair  instances .  They  merely 
show,  in  a  specially  clear  way,  that,  as  Mr.  F.  H.  Bradley  has 
urged,2  it  is  impossible  to  maintain  a  psychological  antithesis 
between  play  and  work.  What,  then,  is  really  the  distinction 
which  the  rejected  antithesis  misrepresents  ?  Here  we  will 
accept  Mr.  Bradley's  further  guidance.  According  to  his 
analysis  the  psychological  colour  of  our  activities  is  chiefly  due 
to  two  factors  which  enter  into  them  in  varying  proportions. 
One  of  these  factors  consists  in  the  conditions  which  are  im- 
posed on  the  agent  ab  extra;  the  other  is  his  spontaneity.  The 
difference  between  the  two  appears  readily  in  the  analysis 
of  any  activity — for  example,  eating  one's  dinner.  The 
mainspring  of  this  activity  is  obviously  an  imperative,  which 
no  one  can  ignore  and  live.    Nature  says:  Thou  shalt  eat. 

1  The  character  called  "The  Bull"  in  Alec  Waugh's  much  discussed 
novel,  "The  Loom  of  Youth,"  illustrates  the  attitude  strikingly. 

3  In  his  article,  "On  Floating  Ideas  and  the  Imaginary"  (Mind,  N.S., 
No.  60). 


PLAY  77 

But  she  leaves  a  fortunate  minority  of  us  considerable  freedom 
to  choose  the  matter  and  the  manner  of  our  eating.  We  may 
dine  in  slippered  ease  on  a  chop  at  home,  or  we  may  go  forth  in 
state  to  an  eight-course  banquet  at  a  fashionable  restaurant. 
The  boundary  between  spontaneity  and  external  constraint 
shifts,  of  course,  from  case  to  case.  At  the  gorgeous  tables 
of  the  great  there  may  be  many  hankerers  after  the  simple  life. 
They  hate  the  Persicos  adparatus,  but  their  circumstances  of 
life  cause  these  to  be  among  the  unalterable  conditions  of 
dining. 

In  this  illustration  the  external  constraint  is  ultimate.  I 
need  not  necessarily  eat  here  or  thus,  but  eat  somewhere  and 
somehow  I  surely  must.  In  other  forms  of  activity  the  con- 
straint which  limits  the  activity  is  not  ultimate.  Thus,  if  I 
play  football  or  auction  bridge,  I  am  bound  by  the  rules  of  the 
game;  but  the  acceptance  of  the  rules  is  itself  voluntary. 
I  can  escape  them  by  standing  out  of  the  game  or  by  persuad- 
.  iug  my  companions  to  adopt  a  new  code.  But  if  I  decide 
to  "  play  the  game,"  my  spontaneity  must  limit  itself  to  the 
operations  of  attack,  defence  and  finesse  which  the  rules 
sanction  and  the  tactics  of  my  opponents  leave  possible. 
Similarly  if  I  decide  to  fill  the  role  of  Hamlet  in  a  performance 
of  the  tragedy,  Shakespeare's  text  becomes  a  condition  of 
restraint,  and  spontaneity  is  limited  to  "  interpreting  "  the 
poet's  lines. 

Here,  then,  is  the  basis  of  the  limited  validity  we  grant  to 
the  antithesis  between  play  and  work.  An  agent  thinks  of 
his  activity  as  play  if  he  can  take  it  up  or  lay  it  down  at 
choice  or  vary  at  will  the  conditions  of  its  exercise ;  he  thinks 
of  it  as  work  if  it  is  imposed  on  him  by  unavoidable 
necessity,  or  if  he  is  held  to  it  by  a  sense  of  duty  or  vocation. 
For  in  activities  of  the  former  class  spontaneity  rules  almost 
unchecked,  while  in  those  of  the  second  kind  it  is  frequently 
obstructed  by  conditions  of  constraint.  But  where  spontaneity 
is  able  to  triumph  over  the  constraining  conditions,  the 


78    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

experience  has  always  the  quality  typical  of  play,  whether  the 
activity  be  called  "  play  "  or  "  work  ";  from  the  inner  stand- 
point, the  two  become,  in  fact,  one  and  indistinguishable 
Thus,  if  I  am  a  successful  engineer,  or  an  inspiring  teacher,  or  a 
skilful  surgeon,  my  "  work  "  may  have  all  the  felt  qualities 
of  play;  while  if  I  am  a  duffer  at  my  profession  its  exercise 
may  be  an  intolerable  burden.  In  short,  the  play-experience 
is,  as  Mr.  A.  F.  Shand  has  pointed  out,1  inseparably  connected 
with  joy.  On  the  one  hand,  joy  tends  naturally  to  express 
itself  in  the  physical  movements  and  the  imitations  of  serious 
activities  which  are  typical  of  children's  play;  on  the  other 
hand,  any  task  becomes  play  to  the  man  who  can  do  it 
with  the  ease  of  mastery  which  brings  joy  in  the  doing. 

The  connection  which  languages  so  commonly  recognize 
between  "  playing  "  and  the  arts  of  music  and  the  drama  has 
been  made  by  some  thinkers,  notably  the  poet  Schiller,  the 
basis  of  a  philosophy  embracing  all  art  in  its  scope.  This 
affiliation  of  art  to  play  is  far  from  implying  a  mean  estimate 
of  the  artist's  labours.  It  proceeds  from  the  sound  observation 
that  the  soul  of  art,  like  that  of  play,  is  the  joyous  exercise 
of  spontaneity.  Even  in  cases  where  poets  "  learn  in  suffer- 
ing what  they  teach  in  song,"  we  may  be  sure  that  they  find  a 
rich,  if  austere,  joy  in  their  power  to  transmute  their  sorrows 
into  pure  and  noble  self-expression.  Again,  art  is  continuous 
with  play,  inasmuch  as  it  exhibits  on  a  higher  level  of  serious- 
ness and  value  the  submission  of  energy  to  form.  Just  as  the 
delight  of  the  true  cricketer  is  not  in  the  mere  expenditure 
of  physical  energy  but  in  the  expression  of  his  strength  in  the 
disciplined  forms  prescribed  by  the  tradition  of  the  game, 
so  the  nobler  joy  of  the  painter,  the  sculptor,  the  poet,  the 
musician  comes  from  the  triumphant  expression  of  spiritual 
energy  through  "significant  forms."  We  may  expect,  then, 
as  Schiller  has  profoundly  observed,2  that  the  nature  of  a 

•  "The  Foundations  of  Character"  (Macmillan,  1914),  bk.  ii.,  ch.  viii. 
8  "Ueber  die  asthetische  Erziehung  des  Menschen,"  Letter  15. 


PLAY  79 

people's  play  will  foreshadow  the  quality  and  value  of  their 
art.  It  is  not  an  accident  that  the  noblest  achievements  of 
antique  art  were  won  by  the  race  that  cherished  the  humane 
and  healthy  Olympic  games,  not  by  the  race  that  loved  the 
horrible  sports  of  the  gladiatorial  arena. 

The  reader  may  profitably  reflect  upon  the  connection 
between  Schiller's  doctrine  and  the  remarks  about  the  culti- 
vation of  ritual  which  we  made  in  the  preceding  chapter. 
Meanwhile  let  us  note  that  a  doctrine  similar  in  essentials  to 
Schiller's  theory  of  "  pure  "  art  has  been  applied  by  William 
Morris  and  other  modern  writers  to  craftsmanship.  In  their 
view  beauty  in  craftsmanship  is  a  play-phenomenon;  for  it 
is  simply  the  disciplined  expression  of  the  maker's  delight 
in  a  process  he  has  learnt  to  carry  out  with  the  ease  of  mas- 
tery. Let  us  suppose  that  we  could  have  watched  the  early 
stages  of  one  of  the  crafts  to  which  the  primitive  masters  of 
mankind  devoted  their  genius — for  example,  the  manufacture 
of  flint  weapons  or  of  earthen  pots.  However  great  the  ability 
that  was  brought  to  bear  upon  those  inventions,  there  is  little 
doubt  that  the  bare  solution  of  the  problems  they  presented 
absorbed  it  all.  The  first  spear-heads  were  merely  things 
that  would  pierce  the  body  of  a  beast  or  a  foe;  the  first  pots 
were  merely  things  that  would  hold  water  and  resist  heat. 
But  as  repetition  of  the  process  brought  skill  and  mastery  over 
the  materials,  the  bare  solution  of  the  problem  demanded  less 
and  less  energy,  and  more  was  available  for  other  purposes. 
Given  that  the  craftsman  took  pleasure  in  his  work  and  that 
his  labours  were  inspired  by  worthy  emotions,  the  "  superfluous 
energy,"  says  the  theory,  would  inevitably  express  itself  as 
beauty.  The  flint  weapon,  the  pot,  became  more  than  a 
mere  weapon,  a  mere  pot ;  they  became  beautiful. 

This  doctrinehas  great  importance  for  aesthetic  education. 
It  teaches  that  the  power  to  produce  beauty  is  not  a  gift  grudg- 
ingly given  by  the  gods  to  a  mere  sprinkling  of  fortunate 
beings;  but  an  ability  which,  though  varying  in  strength, 


80    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

like  other  abilities,  from  individual  to  individual,  is  yet  as 
universal  as  the  power  to  learn  arithmetic.  Let  boys  and 
girls  make  under  conditions  that  stimulate  the  natural  flow 
of  energy,  let  their  social  milieu  be  free  and  humane,  let  them 
acquire  by  pleasant  repetition  (see  p.  62)  the  mastery  that 
enables  them  to  play  with  their  materials — and  beauty  will 
inevitably  appear,  though  in  varied  measure,  in  the  things 
they  create. 

We  turn  now  to  another  element  in  play  upon  which  much 
stress  is  commonly  laid — the  element  of  "  make-believe." 
In  considering  it  we  must  beware,  as  Mr.  W.  H.  Winch  warns 
us,1  of  reading  phenomena  of  adult  life  into  the  play  of  children. 
To  the  adult  mind  no  distinction  seems  so  evident  and  so  sharp 
as  the  distinction  between  the  hard,  cold  world  of  objective 
fact  and  the  subjective  world  of  purpose,  thought  and  fancy. 
We  are  prone  to  forget  that  the  child  does  not  find  this  dis- 
tinction ready  made  for  him,  but  has,  by  gradual  and  often 
painful  experience,  to  discover  its  existence  and  nature. 
Thus,  as  Winch  urges,  much  that  is  attributed  to  the  child's 
faculty  of  making-believe  may  be  due  not  to  the  transforming 
power  of  imagination  but  to  ignorance  and  a  sheer  inability 
to  see  the  world  around  him  as  it  really  is.2 

Where  making-believe  indubitably  takes  place  its  function 
may  usefully  be  compared  with  what  happens  in  cases  of 
conflict  between  two  hostile  complexes  or  systems  of  ideas 
and  emotions  in  a  diseased  mind.  Very  generally  one  of  these 
drives  the  other  entirely  out  of  the  field  of  attention — as  when 
a  lady,3  who  constantly  maintains  that  she  is  the  rightful 
Queen  of  England,  ignores  the  incompatibility  of  her  royal 
status  with  the  lowlier  duties  of  charing  by  which  she  earns 
her  living.    The  normal  child  at  play  has  the  same  power 

1  "Psychology  and  Philosophy  of  Play"  (Mind,  N.S.,  vol.  xv.). 

2  Compare  R.  L.  Stevenson's  remarks  on  children's  imagination  in  the 
essay  on     Child's  Play"  in  "  Virginibus  Puerisque." 

3  This  illustration  is  taken  from  Bernard  Hart,  "  Psychology  of  Insanity  " 
(Cambridge  Manuals  of  Literature  and  Science). 


PLAY  81 

of  ignoring  realities  that  challenge  the  truth  of  his  ideas. 
"  The  chair  he  has  just  been  besieging  as  a  castle,  or  valiantly- 
cutting  to  the  ground  as  a  dragon,  is  taken  away  for  the  accom- 
modation of  a  morning  visitor,  and  he  is  nothing  abashed;  he 
can  skirmish  by  the  hour  with  a  stationary  coal-scuttle;  in 
the  midst  of  the  enchanted  pleasance  he  can  see,  without 
sensible  shock,  the  gardener  soberly  digging  potatoes  for  the 
day's  dinner."1 

In  other  cases  of  insanity  the  complexes  are  so  equally 
matched  that  neither  can  suppress  the  other,  and  a  modus 
vivendi  must  somehow  be  found.  This  is  generally  made 
possible  by  a  supplementary  set  of  ideas  which — simply 
because  they  reconcile  the  incompatibility  of  the  original 
complexes — may  be  embraced  by  the  patient  with  the  utmost 
fervour  of  belief.  Thus  the  rightful  Queen  of  England  may 
become  convinced  that  her  actual  humble  position  is  due  to  a 
conspiracy  to  keep  her  from  her  throne,  and  finds  evidence  of 
the  plot  at  every  turn. 

By  precisely  similar  devices,  adopted  with  something  of 
the  same  conviction,  the  child  is  wont  to  reconcile  facts  and 
ideas  whose  warfare  would  disturb  his  mental  peace.  Here, 
often,  is  the  explanation  of  a  child's  fibbing  and  of  his  inability 
to  keep  the  memory  of  facts  free  from  the  embroidery  of 
fable.  It  is,  further,  one  of  the  commonest  features  of  his 
"  make-believe  "  play.  From  Stevenson's  mine  of  illustra- 
tions comes  a  gem  of  the  first  water.  It  is  the  story  of  a  little 
boy  who  could  join  in  a  game  of  football  only  upon  the  theory 
that  it  was  a  battle,  and  "  was  mightily  exercised  about  the 
presence  of  the  ball,  and  had  to  spirit  himself  up,  whenever  he 
came  to  play,  with  an  elaborate  story  of  enchantment,  and 
take  the  missile  as  a  sort  of  talisman  bandied  about  in  conflict 
between  two  Arabian  nations." 

Instances  such  as  these  show  that  the  mind  of  a  child 
at  play  may,  like  the  mind  of  an  insane  adult,  be  at  the  mercy 

1  Stevenson,  "  Child's  Play." 


82    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

of  a  group  of  ideas  which,  though  it  has  little  or  no  relation 
to  the  actual  world,  may  capture  and  control  the  whole 
current  of  his  consciousness.  Stevenson  tells  us  how  for 
weeks  together  a  child  may  be  unable  to  deal  with  the  most 
ordinary  and  humdrum  situations  of  life  except  in  terms  of 
the  fancies  dominant  at  the  moment.  "  Perhaps,"  he  writes 
in  an  admirable  passage,  "  the  most  exciting  moments  I  ever 
had  over  a  meal  were  in  the  case  of  calves'-feet  jelly.  It  was 
hardly  possible  not  to  believe  .  .  .  that  some  part  of  it  was 
hollow,  and  that  sooner  or  later  my  spoon  would  lay  open  the 
secret  tabernacle  of  the  golden  rock.  There,  might  some 
miniature  Red  Beard  await  his  hour;  there,  might  one  find 
the  treasures  of  the  Forty  Thieves  and  bewildered  Cassim 
beating  about  the  walls.  And  so  I  quarried  on  slowly,  with 
bated  breath,  savouring  the  interest.  Believe  me,  I  had  little 
palate  left  for  the  jelly;  and,  though  I  preferred  the  taste 
when  I  took  cream  with  it,  I  used  often  to  go  without,  because 
the  cream  dimmed  the  transparent  fractures." 

The  analogy  between  the  child's  making-believe  and  some 
phenomena  of  insanity  is  instructive,  but  it  must  not  be  pressed 
too  far.  A  child's  mind  is  rarely  so  securely  bound  to  its 
fancies  that  it  cannot  escape  from  them  easily  enough  if 
need  arise;  and,  as  Stevenson  points  out,  a  single  touch  of 
pain  will  suffice  to  bring  him  back  to  the  actual  at  any 
moment.  Moreover,  there  is  a  fundamental  difference 
between  the  deeper  significance  of  making-believe  and  in- 
sanity which  their  formal  resemblance  must  not  lead  us  to 
overlook.  The  delusions  of  the  insane  are  not  merely  the 
jangling  of  sweet  bells  out  of  tune.  They  can  generally  be 
interpreted  biologically  as  the  refuge  of  a  weak  spirit  which 
cannot  bear  "  the  weary  weight  of  all  this  unintelligible  world." 
They  are  the  expression  of  a  defect  of  energy.  The  strong  mind 
takes  arms  against  a  sea  of  troubles  and,  by  opposing,  ends 
them.  The  weak  mind  gives  up  the  attempt  to  maintain 
relations  with  the  whole  of  the  real  environment,  and  simplifies 


PLAY  83 

the  problem  by  ignoring  a  great  part  of  it.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  making-believe  of  the  child  is,  as  we  have  seen,  an  ex- 
pression not  of  a  defect,  but  of  an  overplus  of  energy.  The 
elan  vital  which  drives  the  child  along  his  life's  course  is  not 
wholly  absorbed  by  the  activities  necessary  to  maintain 
relations  with  the  actual  world.  It  urges  him  to  multiply  and 
enrich  his  experiences,  to  enlarge  his  soul  by  experiments  in  a 
thousand  ways  of  life.  Insanity  is  a  phenomenon  of  shrink- 
age, of  decay;  the  child's  making-believe  is  a  phenomenon  of 
expansion,  of  growth.1  Unable,  through  weakness  and 
ignorance,  to  bend  the  stubborn  reality  of  things  to  his  will, 
to  achieve  his  far-reaching  purposes  objectively,  he  employs 
the  magic  of  making-believe,  as  Aladdin  employed  the  genie 
of  the  lamp,  to  supply  the  means  his  ends  demand,  to  remould 
the  world  nearer  to  his  heart's  desire. 

According  to  this  explanation  the  child's  habit  of  making- 
believe  does  not  imply  that  he  prefers  his  fantasy-world  to 
reality.  It  is  merely  a  biological  device  to  secure  that  his 
self-assertion  during  the  formative  years  of  life  shall  not  be 
frustrated  by  his  inability  to  control  the  real  conditions  of  his 
activities.2  We  should  expect,  therefore,  that  as  age  brings 
fuller  knowledge  and  completer  command  of  those  conditions, 
the  make-believe  element  would  diminish  in  importance. 
And  that  is  precisely  what  we  find.  Stevenson's  little  cam- 
peador  skirmishing  valiantly  with  the  coal-scuttle  is  at  the 

1  Compare  what  we  have  said  about  the  routine-tendency  (p.  62). 

a  This  observation  has  a  close  bearing  on  the  current  dispute  between 
the  orthodox  Froebelians  and  the  followors  of  Dr.  Montessori  with  regard  to 
the  educational  value  of  play.  The  controversy  follows  largely  from  the 
fact  that  both  sides  tacitly  assume  making-believe  to  be  an  essential  feature 
of  play  (as  distinguished  from  games).  The  Froebelians,  believing  that  play 
has  great  educational  value,  encourage  the  child  to  make-believe  because 
they  think  he  cannot  play  without  doing  so.  The  Montessorians,  who 
regard  making-believe  as  frivolous  and  a  form  of  untruth,  are  driven  for 
the  same  reason  to  dispute  the  educational  value  of  play.  From  the  stand- 
point taken  in  the  text,  Froebelian  practice  errs  where  it  introduces  making- 
believe  gratuitously,  that  is,  where  the  child's  spontaneity  does  not  need 
its  aid,  and  the  Montessorians  err  in  refusing  that  aid  where  it  would  serve 
to  widen  the  child's  range  of  serious  interests  and  achievements. 


84    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

first  level  of  the  process.  The  nursery- world  yields  none  of  the 
conditions  his  heroic  impulses  demand;  so  fancy  must  trans- 
late it  into  a  stage  suitably  set  for  knight-errantry.  Don 
Quixote,  a  grown-up  child,  could  satisfy  like  impulses  with  a 
less  extensive  transformation  of  reality.  His  arms  and 
accoutrements  were  real  and  Rozinante  was  genuine  horse- 
flesh; but  fancy  had  to  turn  the  windmills  into  giants.  Thus 
the  don's  famous  deeds  typify  a  stage  in  which  spontaneity, 
though  it  cannot  dispense  with  making-believe,  has  yet  cap- 
tured at  least  some  of  the  real  conditions  for  the  activity  it 
has  chosen.  The  same  stage  is  illustrated  by  a  young  friend  of 
the  author,  who  having  recently  been  photographed,  thirsted 
to  be  himself  a  photographer.  A  cardboard  box  and  a  magni- 
fying glass  were  easily  fashioned  into  a  camera,  and,  casting 
a  shawl  over  his  head,  the  boy  performed  with  exact  veri- 
similitude the  process  of  focusing  the  picture  on  the  screen. 
Then  came  the  crux.  He  knew  that  the  image  must  be  re- 
ceived on  a  sensitive  plate  and  developed  by  chemical  action. 
Unhappily  he  had  neither  plate  nor  developer  nor  any  hope 
of  obtaining  them.  It  was  here  that  the  power  of  making- 
belie  ve — the  fairy  godmother  who  turned  Cinderella's  rags 
into  j  ewelled  splendour  and  the  six  mice  into  prancing  steeds — 
came  to  his  aid.  The  only  fluid,  recognizably  "  chemical," 
upon  which  he  could  lay  his  hands  was  vinegar ;  but  why  should 
not  vinegar  do  ?  So  with  scrupulous  care  he  took  the  "  plate  " 
into  a  dark  cupboard,  solemnly  washed  it  with  vinegar,  and 
persuaded  himself  that  the  lines  of  his  picture,  faint  but  un- 
mistakable, were  actually  fixed  upon  the  surface. 

Only  childhood  enjoys  the  privilege  of  fulfilling  its  im- 
pulses by  this  high-handed  treatment  of  inconvenient  facts. 
As  the  shades  of  the  prison  house  of  reality  close  round  the 
growing  boy  his  ideasareforcedintoever-increasingcongruence 
with  the  external  world ;  instead  of  controlling  they  become 
themselves  controlled.  Nevertheless,  the  power  of  making- 
believe  remains,  and  may  still  perform  an  essential  function 


PLAY  85 

in  securing  freedom  for  the  development  of  spontaneity.  We 
owe  by  far  the  most  impressive  example  of  this  truth  to  the 
psychological  insight  and  happy  invention  of  the  founder  of 
the  Boy  Scout  movement.  The  basal  assumptions  of  the 
scout  organization  are  pure  make-believe;  the  scout's  pictur- 
esque costume,  his  "  patrol-animal "  or  totem,  his  secret 
signs,  his  "  spooring,"  all  belong  to  a  realm  of  facts  and  ideas 
queerly  incongruent  with  the  humdrum  actuality  of  civilized 
life.  Yet  the  geography,  geometry,  and  nature-lore  that  he 
learns  as  a  scout  are  genuine  science;  the  moral  lessons  he 
receives  are  not  only  entirely  serious  but  have  a  strong  and 
abiding  influence  upon  his  character ;  and  it  is  from  the  atmo- 
sphere of  making-believe  that  he  draws  the  intellectual  and 
spiritual  vigour  which  make  what  he  thus  learns  often  far  more 
valuable  than  anything  he  acquires  from  his  teachers  at  school. 
It  is  not  surprising  that,  impressed  by  this  fact,  a  number  of 
headmasters  and  headmistresses  of  secondary  schools  have 

.  boldly  converted  their  junior  forms  into  patrols  of  boy  scouts 
or  girl  guides.1  Their  experience  should  throw  valuable  light 
upon  the  question  whether  the  movement  can  retain  its 
energizing  power  within  the  school  walls  and  over  the  whole 
range  of  the  curriculum. 

An  interesting  and  important  question  is  raised  when  we 
ask  what  is  the  natural  sequel  to  the  boy  scout  stage  in  educa- 
tion. The  problem  is  to  determine  the  form  the  fantasy- 
element  should  take  as  the  youth's  ideas  reach  still  closer 
congruence  with  the  actual  conditions  of  adult  life.  In  the 
opinion  of  many,  the  cadet  corps  is  the  natural  successor  to 
the  scout  troop.  Without  entering  into  the  merits  of  this 
proposal,  which  raises  issues  too  serious  to  be  dealt  with 
briefly,  we  may  yet  contend  that  military  training  is  too 
narrow  in  its  scope  and  aims  to  represent  adequately  what 
scout  training  does  for  the  boy  from  twelve  to  fifteen  years  of 

/  age.    The  need  is  rather  for  sodalities  on  a  basis  wide  enough 

1  See  Ernest  Young's  article,  "Scouting — Its  Educational  Value," in 
the  Report  of  the  Conference  on  New  Ideals  in  Education  for  1916. 


86    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

to  capture  and  develop  all  the  new  interests  of  adolescence. 
A  summer  camp,  or  something  equivalent  thereto,  would 
probably  be  an  essential  feature  in  the  activity  of  such  or- 
ganizations. Camp  life  would  replace  the  imaginative  basis  of 
the  boy  scout  stage  with  something  demanding  less  making- 
believe,  yet  capable  of  stimulating  in  a  similar  way  physical, 
social  and  moral  culture;  for  instance,  it  could  be  used  to 
preserve  as  a  permanent  element  in  education  the  tradition  of 
national  service  established  by  the  vacation  work  of  public 
schoolboys  and  college  girls  during  the  Great  War.  In  the 
winter  months  the  natural  aims  of  the  associations  would  be 
to  guide  the  play-impulses  of  their  members  into  the  channels 
of  art — to  encourage  expression  in  music,  the  drama,  crafts- 
manship, and  the  like — and  to  foster  interest  in  matters  of 
practical  citizenship. 

Sodalities  with  some  such  aims  as  these  will  be,  it  may  be 
urged,  well-nigh  indispensable  adjuncts  to  the  new  continua- 
tion schools,  and  should  in  some  form  be  represented  in  or  in 
connection  with  every  school  for  older  boys  and  girls.  Their 
activities  would  not,  however,  exhaust  the  range  of  impulses 
subject  to  the  play-tendency;  there  remains  the  whole  field 
covered  by  school  learning  in  the  narrower  sense  of  the 
term. 

No  candid  observer  can  doubt  that  school  teaching  would 
be  immensely  more  efficient  if  teachers  could  learn  to  exploit 
the  intellectual  energy  released  so  abundantly  in  play.  Sad 
witness  to  this  truth  is  borne  by  the  long  list  of  writers,  dis- 
coverers and  men  of  action  who  have  accused  their  school 
education  of  being  useless,  sometimes  even  hostile,  to  their 
development.  And  these  men,  whose  intellectual  force  was 
great  enough  to  bring  their  play-dreams  to  maturity,  are  only 
island-peaks  standing  out  from  a  submerged  continent  of 
ability.  School  instruction,  narrow,  unimaginative  and  over- 
formalized,  was  too  often  the  direct  cause  of  the  submergence. 
It  is  not  extravagant  to  say  that  if  such  losses  are  to  be  avoided 


PLAY  87 

teaching  methods  must  aim  deliberately  at  feeding  the  im- 
pulse to  intellectual  play.  This  does  not  mean  that  intellectual 
dissipation  is  to  be  encouraged  or  even  tolerated,  but  that  the 
child's  impulses  to  "  experiment  with  life  "  should  be  taken 
as  our  guide  in  teaching  him.  Following  up  Karl  Groos's 
hint,  we  should  take  the  child  seriously,  as  he  takes  himself, 
as  poet  or  dramatist,  engineer,  surveyor,  chemist,  astronomer, 
sailor,  and  should  help  him  to  explore  as  fully  as  he  craves 
those  concrete  modes  of  self-assertion.  We  have  seen  that  the 
boy  scout  training  succeeds  on  its  intellectual  side  precisely 
because  it  follows  this  policy;  what  is  needed  is  in  effect  an 
extension  of  the  same  policy  throughout  the  curriculum 
and,  with  due  modification  in  method,  throughout  the  school 
period. 

The  immediate  question  is,  then,  what  form  that  policy 
should  take  as  the  social  outlook  of  the  youth  succeeds  to  the 
individualism  of  the  child  and  the  age  for  overt  making-believe 
is  left  behind.  Our  answer  is  that  the  pupil's  studies  should 
be  so  shaped  as  to  help  him  to  be,  in  imagination  and  in  anti- 
cipation, a  sharer  in  those  phases  of  human  effort  which  have 
most  significance  for  civilization  as  a  whole.  His  history  and 
geography  should  look  largely  towards  politics  (in  the  wider 
sense)  and  economics ;  his  science  should  make  him  a  fellow- 
worker  with  men  like  Pasteur  and  the  chemists  and  physicists 
who  have  transformed  the  material  conditions  of  life;  his 
mathematics  should  teach  him  the  value  of  abstract  thought 
in  relation  to  the  practical  affairs  of  life,  including  the 
mechanism  of  commerce  and  the  financial  machinery  of  civic 
and  national  government.  For  teaching  given  in  the  spirit 
thus  indicated  makes  as  direct  an  appeal  to  the  play-motive 
in  the  adolescent  as  the  invitation  to  make-believe  does  to 
the  child. 

Lastly,  the  same  general  argument  gives  powerful  support 
to  those  who  hold  that  the  natural  terminus  of  education  is  a 
training  shaped  to  fit  the  young  man  or  woman  for  some 


88    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

specific  role  in  the  great  play  of  life.  Here — in  "  vocational 
education  " — the  imagination  which  roamed  earlier  over  the 
whole  field  of  human  endeavour  is  centred  upon  a  chosen  plot. 
Interest  comes  to  close  grips  with  the  details  of  actuality, 
and  making-believe  is  present  only  in  so  far  as  the  student 
antedates  in  imagination  his  entrance  into  the  calling  of  his 
choice. 

The  reader  may  suppose  that,  having  traced  the  make- 
believe  element  from  its  riotous  beginnings  in  childhood  to 
its  sober  appearance  in  vocational  studies,  we  have  fully  ex- 
plored its  function  in  sustaining  and  facilitating  spontaneity. 
The  grown  man  and  woman,  he  may  say,  have  to  face  the  bare 
facts  of  the  world  and  wrestle  with  them  without  the  magic 
aid  of  fancy.  Fortunately,  nature  is  not  so  unkind  as  that. 
She  does  not  withdraw  altogether  from  the  adult  the  power  of 
making-believe  with  which  she  protected  his  tender  years. 
A  happy  blindness  of  men  to  present  reality  has  saved  many  a 
good  cause  in  times  of  trouble,  has  preserved  many  a  charming 
way  of  life,  and  prevented  many  a  schemer  for  the  world's  good 
from  abandoning  his  labours  in  despair.1  And  while  it  is 
often  good  for  us  to  see  ourselves  as  we  really  are,  it  may  often 
be  still  better,  both  for  ourselves  and  for  others,  that  we  are 
able  to  ignore  our  actual  weakness  and  pettiness,  and  to  take 
a  make-believe  self  as  the  basis  of  our  plans  and  actions. 
So  subtle  and  pervasive,  as  we  have  said,  is  the  spirit  of  play. 

NOTES  ON  BOOKS,  ETC. 

The  foregoing  chapter  is  an  expansion  of  an  article  contributed  to  tbe 
Educational  Times  of  November,  1912.  For  further  references  see  the 
Notes  at  the  end  of  Ch.  VIII. 

1  A  literary  instance  is  Dr.  Stockmann  in  Ibsen's  play,  An  Enemy  of  the 
People.  The  character  is  said  by  the  critics  to  "  depict  Ibsen's  own  positio  n 
towards  his  countrymen  in  the  mitter  of  Ghosts." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE   "  PLAY-WAY  "   IN   EDUCATION 

It  is  hardly  extravagant  to  say  that  in  the  understanding  of 
play  lies  the  key  to  most  of  the  practical  problems  of  educa- 
tion; for  play,  taken  in  the  narrower  sense  as  a  phenomenon 
belonging  especially  to  childhood,  shows  the  creative  impulses 
in  their  clearest,  most  vigorous  and  most  typical  form.  Hence 
it  is  that  essentially  creative  activities,  such  as  art  and  crafts- 
manship, and,  in  a  smaller  measure,  geographical  exploration 
and  scientific  discovery,  are  felt  to  have  a  peculiar  affinity 
with  play  and  are,  in  fact,  continuous  with  it  in  the  develop- 
ment of  individuality.  Even  recreative  play  and  relaxation 
are  misunderstood  if  viewed  merely  as  attempts  to  escape  from 
the  burden  and  grind  of  real  life.  Whether  the  player  be 
child  or  man,  they  express  the  eternal  craving  of  the  organism 
for  free  self-assertion — a  craving  that  must  somehow  be  fed 
or  the  soul  would  die.  All  truly  effective  reform,  both  in 
education  and  society,  is  motived  by  the  desire  to  enlarge 
as  much  as  possible  the  field  in  which  that  central  function  of 
life  may  find  worthy  and  satisfying  exercise.  Its  ideal, 
whether  held  consciously  or  unconsciously,  is  always  that  of 
the  mad  priest,  in  John  Bull's  Other  Island,  who  dreamed  of 
"  a  commonwealth  in  which  work  is  play  and  play  is  life: 
three  in  one  and  one  in  three."1 

The  reader  will  readily  see  that  this  ideal  is  included  in  our 
concept  of  individuality  as  the  aim  of  education.    It  is  no 

1  Quoted  by  Professor  A.  N.  Whitehead,  who  commends  it  as,  in  particu- 
lar, "  the  ideal  of  technical  education."  See  his  "  Organization  of  Thought" 
(Williams  and  Norgate,  1917),  p.  30. 

89 


90    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

novelty  in  pedagogical  thought — the  theory  of  Rousseau  and 
the  practice  of  Froebel  suffice  to  prove  that — but  it  is  at  the 
present  day  affecting  as  never  before  the  trend  of  educational 
progress.  Among  the  movements  inspired  by  it  more  or  less 
directly,  the  one  connected  with  the  name  of  Dr.  Maria 
Montessori  has  attracted,  not  undeservedly,  world-wide 
attention.  There  is  probably  in  the  Montessori  "  system," 
as  in  all  its  predecessors,  much  that  has  only  secondary  im- 
portance and  only  temporary  significance — possibly  much  that 
will  not  justify  itself  before  the  bar  of  experience.  But  these 
things  can  hardly  be  true  of  the  cardinal  feature  of  her  teach- 
ing :  her  courageous  and  resolute  attempt  to  throw  upon  the 
child  as  completely  as  possible  the  responsibility  for  his  own 
education,  and  to  reduce  external  interference  with  his  develop- 
ment to  a  minimum.  Man  being  a  social  animal,  Dr.  Montes- 
sori provides  that  her  children  shall  learn  how  to  live  with 
others,  to  co-operate  with  them  in  work  and  play,  to  acquire 
social  and  personal  graces.  But  the  most  characteristic  part  of 
her  scheme  consists  in  the  devices — largely  taking  the  form  of 
"  didactic  apparatus  " — by  which  they  are  led  to  teach  them- 
selves what  infancy  and  childhood  should  learn :  such  as  the 
skilled  use  of  their  powers  of  movement  and  sensory  dis- 
crimination, and  the  elementary  arts  of  reading,  writing  and 
number.  Left  to  themselves,  under  the  supervision  of  the 
teacher  or  "  directrice,"  to  go  their  own  way  at  their  own 
time,  to  choose  their  own  tasks  and  to  be  their  own  critics, 
the  little  students  acquire,  it  is  claimed,  a  high  degree  of 
initiative,  self-reliance  and  power  of  concentration;  they 
learn  self-respect  at  the  same  time  as  respect  for  others,  and 
develop  a  habit  of  serious,  purposeful  industry  rarely  shown 
by  children  driven  abreast  along  the  road  of  progress  in  accord- 
ance with  the  traditional  method  of  class-instruction. 

There  is  no  reason  to  doubt  the  justice  of  these  claims. 
Indeed  the  most  cautious  observer,  if  he  could  pass  from  a 
class  of  children  recently  released  from  the  bondage  of  the 


THE  "  PLAY- WAY  "  IN  EDUCATION  91 

older  method  to  one  that  has  learnt  to  use  the  new  freedom,  and 
could  compare  the  noisy  restlessness  and  aimless  disorder  of  the 
former  with  the  calm  and  happy  self-guided  industry  of  the 
latter,  would  find  it  hard  to  remain  a  sceptic.  Moreover,  there 
is  good  evidence,  not  only  that  children  are  often  under  these 
conditions  much  severer  taskmasters  to  themselves  than  their 
teachers  would  dare  to  be,  but  also  that,  in  subjects  capable 
of  objective  examination,  such  as  arithmetic,  reading,  and 
composition,  they  reach  standards  at  least  as  high  as,  and 
generally  higher  than,  those  commonly  expected  of  their  age.1 
Although  Dr.  Montessori  repudiates  make-believe  play, 
together  with  its  literary  reflection,  the  fairy  story,  the  essence 
of  her  practice  may,  nevertheless,  be  described  as  the  play- 
principle  erected  into  a  universal  method  for  the  education  of 
young  children.  Methods  of  a  similar  character,  though  much 
less  thorough-going  and  more  limited  in  scope,  have  for  years 
been  applied  to  the  teaching  of  older  pupils  in  this  country 
and  in  America.  The  best  known  is  the  "  heuristic  method  " 
of  teaching  science  which,  some  twenty  years  ago,  became  in 
the  hands  of  Professor  H.  E.  Armstrong  a  practicable  instru- 
ment of  instruction  and,  largely  as  the  result  of  his  advocacy, 
affected  powerfully  the  teaching  first  of  chemistry  and  physics 
and  later  of  other  subjects.  Since  the  professed  object  of  the 
method  is  to  place  the  student  as  completely  as  may  be  in 
the  position  of  an  original  investigator,  wrestling  for  know- 
ledge as  the  man  of  science  wrestles,  it  is  clearly  in  principle 
a  play-method.  Dr.  M.  W.  Keatinge,  though  a  severe  critic 
of  heurism  and  of  the  general  idea  of  freedom  in  education,  has 
yet  made  valuable  contributions  to  the  same  cause  in  connec- 
tion with  the  use  of  original  documents  in  teaching  history.2 
The  use  of  the  "  dramatic  method  "  in  teaching  history, 

1  See  the  results  given  by  Dr.  C.  W.  Kimmins  in  his  article  "Some 
Recent  Montessori  Experiments  in  England"  in  the  Report  of  the  Con- 
ference on  New  Ideals  in  Education  for  1915. 

8  See  his  "  Studies  in  the  Teaching  of  History"  (Black,  1910,  pp.  123- 
25).  The  criticisms  referred  to  are  in  his  "Suggestion  in  Education" 
(Black,  1907)  and  "Studies  in  Education"  (Black,  1916),  ch.  vii. 


92    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

geography,  English  literature,  and  foreign  languages,  is  a 
still  more  obvious  application  of  the  play-principle.1 

It  may  be  taken  that  more  recent  efforts  of  the  same  kind 
have  generally  been  influenced  by  Dr.  Montessori  as  well  as  by 
the  heuristic  movement ;  for  besides  exploiting  to  the  utmost 
the  spontaneity  of  the  individual,  they  require  the  teacher 
to  renounce  his  authoritarian  position,  and  to  be  contented 
to  be  an  "  observer,"  or  simply  an  elder  companion  of  his 
pupils.  This  is  true,  for  instance,  of  the  methods  described 
by  Mr.  Norman  McMunn  for  "  teaching  through  partnership." 
It  is  conspicuously  true  of  the  methods  of  teaching  the 
English  language  and  literature  recently  described  with  much 
vivacity  and  in  full  detail  by  Mr.  Caldwell  Cook,  who  shows  his 
clear  appreciation  of  the  psychological  sanction  of  his  proce- 
dure by  calling  his  book  "  The  Play- Way." 

These  writers  are  only  prominent  members  of  a  rapidly 
growing  company  of  pioneers  who  are  all  busily  engaged  in 
exploring  the  M  play-way  "  of  teaching  the  several  subjects 
of  the  curriculum.  In  contrast  with  their  experiments, 
which  are  concerned  primarily  with  procedure  in  instruction, 
we  must  now  note  another  series  of  essays  in  revolutionary 
pedagogy,  whose  significance  is  rather  in  relation  to  school 
government  and  discipline.  Here  the  chief  centre  of  inspira- 
tion, at  least  for  this  country,  has  been  Mr.  Homer  Lane's 
"  Little  Commonwealth,"  which  was,  in  turn,  a  derivative 
from  an  American  institution  widely  known  as  the  "  George 
Junior  Republic."  The  original  citizens  of  the  Little 
Commonwealth  were,  like  their  trans-Atlantic  prototypes, 
young  delinquents,  boys  and  girls  of  fourteen  years  and 
upwards,  who  were  handed  over  to  Mr.  Lane,  under  the  terms 
of  the  Children  Act  (1908),  by  a  discerning  and  courageous 
magistrate.  It  is,  however,  instructive  to  observe  that  the 
community,  as  it  grew,  came  to  contain  a  number  of  children, 

1  See  Edmond  Holmes,  "What  Is  and  What  Might  Be,"  p.  174.  Mr. 
Holmes  notes  that  "Work  while  you  play  and  play  while  you  work" 
Beems  to  have  been  the  ma*im  of  his  niedd  teacher  "  Fgeria." 


THE  "  PLAY- WAY  "  IN  EDUCATION  93 

of  tender  years  and  innocent  of  crime,  whose  presence  was 
valued  as  an  important  factor  in  the  remedial  influence  of  the 
institution.  The  prime  feature  of  Mr.  Lane's  policy  was  one 
that  struck  every  newly  enrolled  member  of  the  Commonwealth 
with  extreme  astonishment — namely,  that  the  citizens  were 
subject  to  no  discipline  or  government  which  was  not  of  their 
own  making  and  administered  entirely  by  themselves.  They 
regulated  their  affairs  with  all  the  freedom  and  self-responsi- 
bility of  a  fully  emancipated  democracy. 

The  argument  that  led  up  to  this  startling  inversion  of  the 
usual  methods  of  the  "  reformatory  school "  is  clear  and 
simple.  In  Mr.  Lane's  view,  juvenile  criminality  is  due  not  to  a 
perverted  nature  but  to  the  misdirection  of  strong  impulses 
which,  deprived  of  their  normal  outlet,  are  driven  to  seek 
satisfaction  in  irregular  and  anti-social  conduct.  The  remedy 
sanctioned  by  psychology  is  not  further  repression,  relentless 
and  overwhelming,  but."  sublimation  " ;  and  this  is  the  remedy 
the  Little  Commonwealth  sought  to  supply.  The  young 
incorrigible,  the  despair  of  his  parents  and  teachers,  perhaps 
the  terror  of  a  London  slum,  found  himseli  on  a  farm  in  Dorset- 
shire among  busy  young  people  engaged  in  occupations  that 
tempt  initiative  and  give  scope  to  abounding  energy.  If  he 
chose  to  share  their  labours  he  could  earn  the  wages  of  inde- 
pendence ;  if  he  declined  to  work  he  must  live  on  the  humiliat- 
ing charity  of  boys  andgirls  of  his  own  age  and  class, and  admit 
the  justice  of  their  contempt.  There  was  little  fun  in  re- 
bellion against  the  law,  where  there  was  no  authority  except 
the  common  will  of  those  who  might  in  former  days  have  been 
members  of  his  own  '  gang.'  It  should  not  be  surprising 
that,  in  these  circumstances,  the  inveterate  truant  and  idler 
was  often  transformed  into  an  industrious  agriculturist,  the 
young  outlaw  into  a  convinced  supporter  of  a  social  order 
he  helped  to  make. 

If  freedom  and  self-responsibility  have  power  thus  to 
regenerate  characters  warped  by  years  of  misdoing  and  mis- 


94    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

handling,  why  should  they  not  prove  equally  potent  for  good 
in  the  education  of  all  boys  and  girls  ?  Responding  to  the 
suggestive  force  of  this  question,  many  teachers  are  testing, 
with  varying  degrees  of  scientific  thoroughness,  the  possibility 
and  value  of  "  self-government  "  in  ordinary  schools.  The 
account  of  one  such  experiment,  given  by  Mr.  J.  H.  Simpson, 
is  particularly  useful,  not  only  by  reason  of  the  clearness  and 
candour  of  his  analysis,  but  also  because  it  shows  that  the  new 
ideas  have  power  to  transform  even  that  formidable  thing, 
the  English  public  school  tradition.  As  Mr.  Simpson  points 
out,  the  so-called  self-government  of  the  public  schools  is  far 
from  being  democratic  in  the  proper  sense  of  the  term.  It  is 
rather,  he  maintains,  a  compound  of  the  oligarchic  rule  of  the 
prefects  with  the  tyranny  of  a  custom  often  stupid  and  un- 
progressive  simply  because  the  ordinary  boy  is  given  no  oppor- 
tunity of  exercising  his  intelligence  and  initiative  in  matters 
of  real  importance.  Moreover,  the  whole  social  tone  is  subtly 
vitiated  by  a  subconscious  opposition  between  the  authority 
of  masters  and  prefects  on  the  one  hand  and  the  rights  and 
interests  of  the  commonalty  on  the  other ;  whence  comes  the 
pernicious  idea  that  the  maintenance  of  law,  like  the  exaction 
of  work,  is  the  business  of  external  powers  whose  will  it  is 
permissible  and  even  a  "sporting  "  thing  to  frustrate.  These 
evils  can  hardly  be  removed  unless  the  law  of  school  and  class- 
room comes  to  be  the  expression  of  a  common  will  to  which 
every  boy  has  an  equal  right  to  contribute,  and  until,  corre- 
latively,  it  is  recognized  that  to  make  and  to  administer  the 
law  is  a  duty  which  no  one  may  shirk,  but  every  one  must 
share  in,  to  the  best  of  his  ability. 

Mr.  Simpson,  following  the  practice  in  the  Little  Common- 
wealth, sought  to  fulfil  these  conditions  by  setting  aside  certain 
periods  in  every  week  during  which  his  form  was  resolved 
into  a  "court"  performing  the  functions  of  legislation, 
administration  and  justice  under  its  elected  officers.  The 
reader  must  consult  his  book  for  an  account  of  the  progresa 


THE  "PLAY- WAY"  IN  EDUCATION  95 

of  the  experiment  and  of  the  difficulties  its  course  encountered. 
We  must  set  down,  however,  two  conclusions  to  which  his 
experience  seems  to  point.  The  first  is  that  it  is  difficult  to 
combine  thorough-going  self-government  with  the  present 
methods  of  class-instruction;  for  these  belong  integrally  to 
the  older  tradition  of  school-organization  and  discipline. 
Self-government  and  some  form  of  "  play- way  "  in  teaching 
are  necessary  correlatives,  the  former  being  itself,  in  fact, 
the  play-way  in  the  region  of  conduct.  The  second  con- 
clusion is  that  the  larger  the  share  of  responsibility  we  throw 
on  to  the  pupil  the  more  necessary  is  it  that  education,  as  a 
way  of  spending  one's  time  and  energies,  should  be  justified  in 
his  eyes.  Tasks  imposed  on  us  by  irresistible  forces  do  not 
need  this  justification.  If  they  prove  congenial,  so  much  the 
better ;  if  not,  we  make  the  best  we  can  of  them.  In  either 
case  we  cannot  help  taking  them  seriously.  But  if  they  are  ex- 
pressions of  our  own  freewill,  we  shall  take  them  seriously  only 
if,  like  voluntary  play,  they  seem  intrinsically  "  worth  while." 
In  the  Little  Commonwealth  this  condition  was  met  by 
putting  the  work  on  a  directly  economic  basis.  Mr.  Simpson, 
recognizing  the  need  to  which  we  refer,  sought  what  he  calls 
a  quasi-economic  basis  in  an  ingenious  system  of  corporate 
marks.  As  we  might  expect,  he  does  not  regard  this  device 
as  finally  satisfactory.  We  must,  in  fact,  agree  with  him  that 
nothing  will  really  meet  the  case,  short  of  such  changes  in  the 
matter  and  manner  of  school  teaching  as  will  make  it  unneces- 
sary to  offer  bribes  to  industry,  and  will  place  the  incentive  to 
labour  in  the  labour  itself.  And  such  changes  must  un- 
questionably be  looked  for  in  the  directions  indicated  in  the 
preceding  chapter. 

Connected  with  these  new  departures  in  education  are 
two  large  questions  we  have  reserved  for  separate  discussion. 
The  first  is  the  question  of  school  organization;  the  second 
concerns  the  functions  of  the  teacher. 


96    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

It  is  manifest  that  neither  a  rigid  class-system  nor  a  rigid 
time-table  is  wholly  compatible  with  the  principle  that  a 
child  should  travel  through  the  world  of  learning  in  his  own 
way  and  at  his  own  time.     These  institutions  embody,  in 
fact,  the  contrary  principle;  for  the  assumption  underlying 
them  is  that  a  school  may  be  divided  into  groups  of  learners 
each  of  which  can  be  treated  as  a  unit  moving  in  a  single 
direction  at  a  single  rate  of  progress  and  transferring  its 
interest  from  subject  to  subject  in  obedience  to  an  external 
rule.    In  the  case  of  the  large  classes  still  too  common  in 
elementary  schools,  this  grotesque  assumption  has  often  to  be 
taken  quite  seriously,  for  nothing  else  may  be  possible.    In  less 
trying  cases  there  is  room  for  compromise ;  classes  may  be  sub- 
divided into  sections  and  rearranged  for  different  subjects; 
there  are  "  options  "  and  "  sides  "  and  "  individual  attention  " 
for  divergents.    But  although  the  barbarous  simplicity  of  the 
scheme  may  thus  be  tempered,  its  basis  is  still  the  postulate 
that  it  is  the  teacher's  business  to  prescribe  what  shall  be 
learnt  and  how  and  when  it  shall  be  learnt,  the  pupil's  to 
respond  as  best  he  can.    The  "  Montessori  school,"  on  the 
other  hand,  accepts  the  full  consequences  of  the  principle 
that  the  individual  pupil  is  the  unit.    Life  being  a  social 
business  and  the  school  a  miniature  society,  there  must  be 
certain  regularities  and  certain  corporate  acts.    Apart  from 
these,  however,  there  is  no  fixed  time-table  and  there  are  no 
classes;  the  children  go  their  own  way  and  move  freely  upon 
their  lawful  occasions.    In  the  case  of  older  pupils  this  method, 
too,  must  admit  compromise.    There  are  many  times  when 
the  repetition  of  necessary  instruction  would  be  extremely 
wasteful,  and  many  when  corporate  teaching  has  values  of 
its  own  which  nothing  could  replace.    Moreover,  provision 
must  be  made  for  co-operative  activities,  such  as  music, 
gardening,  field-work,  and  hand-work,  physical  and  dramatic 
exercises.    For  work  of  these  kinds  there  must  be  fixed  times, 
places  and  organization.    But  there  would  remain  an  un- 


THE  "  PLAY-WAY  "  IN  EDUCATION  07 

mistakable  difference  between  the 'general  tone  and  function- 
ing of  a  system  of  this  kind,  and  those  of  one  built  up  on 
the  traditional  presuppositions.  And  there  is  already  good 
evidence  that  such  a  system  is  not  only  practicable,  but  is 
capable  of  yielding  fruits  better  than  those  of  the  older 
system,  even  when  measured  by  the  older  standards. 

Lastly,  we  turn  to  the  teacher.  The  reader  may  have  found 
it  difficult  to  see  what  room  is  left  for  a  teacher  in  a  scheme  of 
things  in  which  each  child  is  to  seek  his  own  individuality  and 
ensue  it.  And  his  perplexity  may  well  be  deepened  when  he 
finds  Dr.  Montessori  insisting  that  the  teacher's  one  function 
is  to  be  "  an  observer  "  and  Mr.  Lane  disclaiming  any  peda- 
gogical gift  except  masterly  inactivity.  Let  him  observe,  then, 
in  the  first  place,  that  however  "  natural  "  the  conditions  of 
school  life  may  be  made,  it  remains  a  life  lived  in  a  selected 
environment,  an  artificial  microcosm  within  the  macrocosm, 
and  that  the  teachers  do  the  selecting.  They  set  the  stage 
and  furnish  the  properties  for  the  play.  It  follows  that  even 
though  they  claim  no  share  in  the  composition  of  the  drama, 
but  merely  watch  its  development  with  friendly  interest,  they 
have  already  settled  within  certain  limits  what  form  the  action 
shall  take.  Thus,  though  it  is  true  that  in  a  Montessori  school 
a  child  may  do  what  he  pleases,  yet  what  he  may  please  to  do 
is  rigidly  and  even  narrowly  limited.  He  must  fit  cylinders 
into  their  appropriate  holes,  arrange  coloured  tablets  in  due 
sequence,  learn  the  rudiments  of  number  from  the  "  long 
stair  ";  for,  as  matters  are  arranged,  there  is  really  nothing 
else  he  can  do.  In  fact,  one  of  the  most  striking  things  about 
these  schools  is  the  uniformity  of  the  routine.  Of  all  the 
uses  to  which  infantile  ingenuity  could  put  the  "  didactic 
apparatus,"  those  intended  by  the  inventor  are  the  only 
ones  actually  observable.  How  does  this  come  about  ? 
Ultimately,  without  question,  by  the  will  of  the  teacher,  who 
intends,  for  instance,  that  the  cylinders  shall  be  used  neither 
as  nine-pins  nor  as  soldiers,  but  solely  for  cultivating  tactile 

7 


98    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

and  visual  discrimination.  This  use,  discreetly  suggested, 
spreads  by  imitation  and  becomes  fixed  in  the  tradition  of  the 
school;  but  behind  and  safeguarding  the  tradition  there  is 
always  the  abiding  will  of  the  teacher. 

It  must,  further,  be  understood  that,  in  speaking  of  the 
teacher  as  an  observer,  Dr.  Montessori  has  in  view  not  a  merely 
passive  onlooker,  but  an  active  observer — one  who  "stands 
by,"  in  the  nautical  sense  of  the  term,  refraining  from  fussy 
interference,  but  ready  to  lend  a  hand  when  help  is  called  for. 
She  must  keep  a  minute  record  of  each  child's  progress  and,  like 
a  watchful  but  restrained  mother,  must  look  for  the  moment 
when  a  word  will  be  truly  in  season  or  a  suggestion  judicious. 

Similarly,  the  teacher  of  older  pupils  will  not  cease  to  be  a 
teacher,  however  resolutely  he  may  abjure  the  didactic 
attitude.  His  functions  may  change  in  character,  but  will  be 
no  whit  less  important,  and  will  make  even  greater  demands 
upon  learning,  intelligence  and  professional  cunning.  It  will 
be  his  task  to  create  and  maintain  an  environment  in  which  his 
pupil's  impulses  towards  the  arts  and  sciences  will  be  awakened, 
and  to  shepherd  them  unobtrusively  in  the  right  directions. 
Himself  steeped  in  the  best  traditions  of  his  subject,  he  must 
see  that,  by  inspiration,  suggestion  and  criticism,  those  tradi- 
tions are  revealed  to  the  young  inquirer,  and  are  allowed  to 
make  their  appeal  to  him.  He  will  be  an  "  idea-carrier  " 
between  the  great  world  and  the  school  microcosm,  infecting 
his  pupils  imperceptibly  with  germs  that  may  fructify  into 
ideals  of  sound  workmanship  and  devoted  labour.  And,  as  we 
have  already  said,  organization  and  corporate  instruction, 
though  they  lose  their  present  obstructive  predominance, 
must  retain  their  natural  place  in  the  school  economy.  The 
old  pedagogic  arts,  which  represent  not  merely  the  blunders  of 
the  past  but  also  the  successes  won  during  centuries  of  sincere 
and  patient  effort,  can  never  become  obsolete.  But  purged  by 
a  surer  criticism,  they  should  develop  into  the  better  instru- 
ments of  a  more  enlightened  purpose. 


THE  "  PLAY- WAY  "  IN  EDUCATION  99 

Turning  from  intellectual  to  moral  education,  we  must 
remark  that  some  enthusiasts  for  the  **  new  freedom  "  are 
prone  to  accept  with  uncritical  readiness  the  doctrine  that 
children  are  naturally  good,  in  the  sense  that  if  they  were 
left  to  themselves  moral  beauty  would  unfold  in  their  lives, 
as  surely  as  physical  beauty  unfolds  in  the  blossoming  flower. 
It  is  a  pleasanter  doctrine  than  the  one  which  declares  the 
heart  of  man  to  be  deceitful  beyond  all  things  and  desper- 
ately wicked,  but,  like  the  latter,  is  rather  the  expression  of  a 
temperament  than  the  statement  of  a  fact .  There  is,  however, 
this  to  be  said  for  Rousseau's  position  as  against  Jeremiah's : 
good  ways  of  life  have  in  them  a  promise  of  growth  which  bad 
ways  may  falsely  offer  but  cannot,  like  the  good,  fulfil.  Good 
activities  may  lead  to  indefinite  expansion;  evil  activities, 
though  for  a  while  they  may  flourish  like  the  bay-tree,  con- 
tain in  themselves  the  seeds  of  their  own  inevitable  decay. 
Beings,  the  deepest  need  of  whose  nature  is  creative  expansion, 
must,  therefore,  on  the  whole,  seek  the  good  and  cannot  be 
satisfied  unless  they  find  it.  But  the  tragic  history  of  the 
human  conscience,  and  the  sad  story  of  what  man  has  made  of 
man,  show  how  doubtful  is  the  search  and  how  often  it  ends 
in  disaster.  While,  then,  the  unperverted  impulses  of  child- 
hood may  have  a  biological  bias  towards  the  good,  it  is  too 
much  to  expect  them  to  solve  unaided  the  problems  of  life 
which  have  baffled  some  of  the  best-intentioned  minds  and 
most  highly  gifted  races  of  mankind.  In  short,  it  is  dangerous 
to  ignore  either  of  two  complementary  truths:  the  one  ex- 
pressed in  Shelley's  bitter  parody,  "  Wherever  two  or  three  are 
gathered  together, the  devil  is  in  the  midstof  them;"the  other, 
in  Mr.  G.  K.Chesterton's  dictum,  that  to  hold  that  "salvation, 
like  other  good  things,  must  not  come  from  outside  "  is  "a 
blunder  about  the  very  nature  of  life."1 

In  the  realm  of  conduct,  then,  as  in  the  realm  of  intellect, 
teaching  must  always  have  a  definite  place  and  essential 
1  "  Short  History  of  England/'  p.  58. 


100    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

functions.  Taking  first  the  case  of  young  children,  it  is 
clear  that  the  teacher's  manipulation  of  the  environment  is 
not  limited  to  setting  the  stage  for  the  child's  activities  and 
providing  him  with  fellow-actors.  She,  with  her  superior 
powers  and  knowledge  and  her  developed  personality,  is 
herself  a  constant  and  most  important  element  in  the  environ- 
ment, and  exercises  on  the  growing  minds  about  her  an  in- 
fluence that  will  be  none  the  less  decisive  because  it  is  brought 
to  bear  in  the  indirect  form  of  suggestion  and  example  rather 
than  by  precept  and  command.  From  her,  if  she  is  worthy 
of  her  functions,  the  children  learn  in  a  thousand  subtle 
ways  the  attitudes  and  tendencies  that  distinguish  the  humane 
from  the  brutal,  the  civilized  from  the  barbaric  habit  of  life. 
Insensibly  but  surely  her  values  become  their  values,  her 
standards  their  standards;  and  from  her  come  the  influences 
that  direct  the  children's  social  impulses  into  definite  forms 
of  kindly  action. 

Similarly,  although  the  teacher  of  older  boys  and  girls 
may  resolutely  put  away  the  notion,  so  seductive  to  adult 
vanity,  that  it  is  his  duty  to  "  mould  the  characters  "  of  his 
pupils  as  the  potter  moulds  his  clay,  yet  he  cannot  bind  the 
directive  influences  that  flow  from  the  prestige  of  age,  of 
superior  knowledge  and  experience  of  the  world.  Even  if 
he  could  he  should  certainly  not  do  so.  His  part  is  not  to  be 
a  roi faineant,  but  rather  to  be  in  his  little  republic  a  perpetual 
president,  who  must  exercise  the  duties  of  citizenship  all  the 
more  scrupulously  and  assiduously  by  reason  of  the  excep- 
tional powers  his  position  gives  him.  He  cannot  help  regu- 
lating the  moral  atmosphere  of  the  school  or  class  to  a  large 
extent  by  his  influence  on  the  pupils'  studies  and  reading. 
And  though  his  young  people  will  generally  gain  outside 
the  school  their  first  acquaintance  with  the  loyalties  and 
aspirations  that  divide  and  sway  the  world,  yet  it  is  in  school 
and  under  his  influence  that  the  issues  involved  in  those 
loyalties  and  the  meaning  of  those  aspirations  should  become 


THE  "  PLAY- WAY  "  IN  EDUCATION  101 

clear  to  them,  so  that  they  may  make  their  choice  with  as 
full  a  sense  of  responsibility  as  their  age  permits. 

Again,  it  is  undoubtedly  a  sound  principle  that  the  power 
of  moral  ideas  depends,  in  general,  upon  their  being  learnt 
from  first-hand  experience,  and  used  as  guides  to  one's  own 
responsible  actions.  Here,  rather  than  in  some  metaphysical 
dogma  of  natural  goodness,  is  the  true  sanction  for  the  practice 
of  throwing  the  onus  of  school-government  upon  the  governed, 
and  calling  upon  them  not  only  to  create  the  law  but  also  to 
deal  with  offences  against  it.  The  principle  is  so  important 
that,  rather  than  sacrifice  it,  a  teacher  may  justifiably  tolerate 
much  minor  evil,  waiting  patiently  for  the  spontaneous 
reaction  that  will  generally  come  when  experience  reveals  its 
unpleasant  fruits.  But,  in  addition  to  the  common  rights  of 
school  citizenship  which  the  teacher  shares  with  the  taught, 
he  has  a  special  responsibility  that  he  cannot  repudiate:  it 
is  his  plain  duty  to  see  that  the  fundamental  purposes  of 
school-life  are  not  frustrated  by  the  corrupting  influences  of 
a  few  or  the  moral  weakness  of  the  rest.  When  danger  of  this 
kind  threatens,  and  persuasion  fails  to  "  rally  the  good  in  the 
depths  "  of  the  social  body,  he  must  act  and  act  decisively. 
There  is  no  inconsistency  between  this  conclusion  and  the  pre- 
ceding argument,  provided  that  the  teacher  makes  clear  that 
he  acts  not  as  an  autocrat  resuming  rights  of  interference  for  a 
while  in  abeyance,  but  as  the  mandatory  of  "a  wider  society 
to  which  he  and  the  offending  body  alike  owe  allegiance — 
the  school  as  an  historic  entity  transcending  its  present  mem- 
bership, or,  in  the  last  resort,  the  Great  Society  of  which  the 
school  is,  ultimately,  an  organ. 

The  case  for  self-government  in  schools  is  put  by  some 
strenuous  advocates  in  a  form  whose  consequences  it  is  im- 
portant to  face  clearly.  Starting  from  the  sound  position  that 
boys  and  girls  can  best  learn  the  significance  and  value  of  the 
moral  order  by  building  it  up  for  themselves,  they  proceed  to 
argue  that  the  process,  if  it  is  to  be  genuine,  or  at  least  complete, 


102    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

must  start  from  the  beginning.  As  one  of  the  leaders  in  the 
new  way  has  said,  it  is  only  when  young  people  have  had 
the  "  searching  experience  "  of  a  moral  chaos  that  the  craving 
for  something  better  is  powerfully  aroused  in  them.  We 
must  accept  the  evidence  which  has  now  been  offered  from 
many  quarters  that  the  moral  activity  thus  initiated  and 
supported  may  have  the  happiest  and  most  striking  results 
upon  the  character  of  those  who  share  in  it.  But  we  are  bound 
to  ask  what  happens  to  those  who  come  after  them  and  find 
the  foundations  of  a  decent  common  life  already  laid  and  a 
fair  building  already  erected  upon  them.  Deprived  of  the 
"  searching  experience  "  of  moral  anarchy,  will  they  not  also 
miss  the  educative  experience  of  fashioning  a  moral  order  to 
replace  it  ?  There  are  uncompromising  spirits  who  do  not 
shrink  from  what  seems  to  be  the  inevitable  answer.  They 
agree  that  as  soon  as  a  stable  rule  of  life  has  been  established 
the  community  has  exhausted  its  usefulness;  it  must  be 
broken  up  and  a  fresh  start  made  for  the  benefit  of  the  next 
generation  of  citizens. 

Reformers  of  a  less  heroic  cast  may  well  shrink  from 
accepting  so  drastic  a  deduction  from  their  principles,  and  will 
turn  back  to  re-examine  the  premises  from  which  it  follows. 
They  will  then  observe  that  their  intransigent  colleague  has 
eliminated  from  his  educational  scheme  one  element  which 
the  world  in  general  holds  to  be  of  prime  importance — namely, 
the  influence  of  tradition.  The  methods  used  in  the  upbring- 
ing of  children  have  varied  widely  from  age  to  age,  and  even 
from  one  family  or  school  to  another  at  the  same  epoch ;  but 
from  the  dawn  of  civilization  the  elder  generation  has  con- 
ceived its  task  to  be  to  form  the  younger  generation  in  the 
tradition  in  which  itself  was  formed,  modified  in  such  direc- 
tions as  its  experience  may  have  suggested  to  be  desirable. 
Conservative  reformers  are  content  to  seek  improvements 
in  the  practice  based  on  this  ancient  faith;  our  revolu- 
tionaries would  have  us  reject  the  basis  altogether,  and  build 


THE  "  PLAY- WAY  "  IN  EDUCATION  103 

education   anew   on  some  form  of  the  dogma  of  natural 
goodness. 

No  one  who  has  accepted  the  interpretations  of  life  set  out 
in  these  pages  can  be  satisfied  with  such  a  position.  Somehow, 
he  will  say,  the  new,  well-founded  faith  in  the  child's  spon- 
taneity must  be  made  to  square  with  the  old,  equally  well- 
founded  faith  in  the  value  of  tradition.1  Our  own  discussion, 
based  upon  the  results  of  the  previous  chapters,  has  constantly 
assumed  such  a  reconciliation  to  be  possible.  The  psycho- 
logical grounds  for  the  assumption  may  become  still  clearer 
as  we  proceed. 

NOTES  ON  BOOKS,  ETC. 

Dr.  Montessori  has  given  i  consecutive  account  of  her  ideas  and  their 
applications  in  two  works,  "  The  Montessori  Method  "  and  "  The  Advanced 
Montessori  Method"  (Heinemann).  A  brief  general  account  of  the  Little 
Commonwealth  will  be  found  in  Clarke  Hall,  "  The  State  and  the  Child  " 
(Headley,  1917).  The  citations  on  pp.  94-5  are  from  J.  H.  Simpson,  "An 
Adventure  in  Education"  (Sidgwick  and  Jackson,  1917).  N.  MacMunn, 
"  A  Path  to  Freedom  in  the  School,"  records  the  experience  of  a  still  earlier 
pioneer,  and  is  a  persuasive  little  work,  full  of  sound  criticism  of  the  old 
order.  H.  Caldwell  Cook,  "  The  Play  Way  "  (Heinemann),  is  a  delightful 
essay  in  the  "  new  teaching"  of  English.  For  the  Caldecott  Community 
see  the  footnote  on  p.  75.  The  Bureau  of  Educational  Experiments  (70, 
Fifth  Avenue,  New  York)  has  issued  several  useful  pamphlets  on  the 
educational  value  of  play.  Sir.  R.  Baden-Powell's  "  Scouting  for  Boys  " 
and  the  official  Handbooks  for  Wolf  Cubs  and  Girl  Guides  are  all  published 
by  C.  A.  Pearson,  Ltd.  The  "  Order  of  Woodcraft  Chivalry  "  is  a  more 
recent  movement,  based  explicitly  upon  the  recapitulation  theory  of  human 
development.  Its  aims  and  methods  are  briefly  set  out  by  Margaret  A. 
Westlake,  "The  Theory  of  Woodoraft  Chivalry"  (published  by  the  Order, 
at  4  Fleet  Street,  E  G.  4,  1918). 

1  To  start  afresh  from  moral  chaos  may  still  be  necessary  as  a  remedial 
measure  to  be  adopted  in  the  case  of  "  delinquents  "  whose  minds  have  been 
poisoned  by  a  bad  tradition.  But  even  in  this  case  the  purpose  of  tho  moral 
surgery,  properly  interpreted,  is  to  establish  the  conditions  under  which  a 
better  tradition  may  have  it3  due  effects. 


CHAPTER  IX 

NATURE  AND  NURTURE 

The  question  just  raised  has  been  long  and  warmly  debated 
in  a  more  general  form — namely,  as  the  question  whether 
"  nature  "  or  "  nurture,"  inherited  endowment  or  environ- 
mental influence,  has  the  more  potent  effect  in  determining  a 
child's  development.  Upon  this  issue  there  are  two  schools 
of  extreme  opinion.  The  one,  mainly  followers  of  Francis 
Galton,  exalts  "  nature  "  so  high  that  "  nurture  "  becomes 
of  almost  trivial  importance;  the  other,  conveniently  called 
"  neo-Herbartian,"  maintains  almost  without  qualification 
the  cheerful  creed  of  Helvetius :  Education  pent  tout. 

The  Galtonians  support  their  position  by  two  main  lines  of 
argument.  In  the  first  place,  they  say,  there  is  between  a 
child's  physical  and  moral  qualities  so  high  a  degree  of  corre- 
lation, that  it  is  impossible  to  suppose  them  derived  from 
different  sources.  Since  the  former  are  indubitably  the  work 
of  "  nature,"  the  latter  cannot  be  produced  by  "  nurture." 
Given  that  Becky  Sharp  was  born  with  green  eyes,  we  must 
admit1  that  the  rest  of  her  deplorable  career  followed  almost 
as  a  matter  of  course. 

In  the  second  place,  they  point  to  the  stubborn  facts  of 
heredity.  Galton  presented  some  of  these  in  a  particularly 
arresting  form  in  his  nightmare  histories  of  twins  who  be- 
haved throughout  their  lives  as  if  they  were  clockwork 
automata  turned  out  by  the  same  factory  and  wound  up  at 

1  As  Professor  Karl  Pearson  has  somewhere  said. 
104 


NATURE  AND  NURTURE  105 

the  same  moment.  The  disquieting  kiference  from  these 
chronicles  is  that  we  are  all  driven  upon  life's  course  by  the 
fatal  vis  a  tergo  of  our  endowment,  although,  owing  to  the 
merciful  infrequency  of  twins,  most  of  us  are  able  to  dwell  in  a 
fool's  paradise  where  the  depressing  fact  may  be  ignored. 
The  biometricians  have  used  their  statistics  ruthlessly  to  drive 
home  the  same  idea,  showing  that  a  man's  character  is  corre- 
lated with  his  ancestor's  as  fatally  as  his  stature  or  his  cephalic 
index.  And,  finally,  eugenic  research  has  rooted  oat  the 
appalling  history  of  the  Jukes  family,1  to  clinch  the  proof  that 
the  circumstances  of  life  are  to  man  what  rocks  and  winds 
and  currents  are  to  a  ship :  merely  accidents  that  make  his 
qualities  manifest  but  have  nothing  whatever  to  do  with 
producing  them. 

Unmoved  by  the  weight  of  scientific  authority  behind 
these  arguments,  Dr.  F.  H.  Hayward,  the  protagonist  of  the 
neo-Herbartians,  declares  boldly  that  psychical  heredity  is  a 
"  spectre  "  which  vanishes  as  soon  as  one  penetrates  beyond 
statistical  abstractions  to  the  concrete  facts  of  life.  It  is 
no  longer  possible,  he  admits,  to  maintain  the  pure  Herbartian 
doctrine  that  the  soul  consists  in  nothing  but  acquired  ideas; 
it  possesses,  without  doubt,  specific  inherited  tendencies. 
But  these  tendencies  are  so  plastic  that  "  nurture "  can 
make  almost  anything  of  them.  To  be  convinced  of 
this  we  need  only  examine  the  records  of  such  an 
institution  as  the  Barnardo  Homes.  For  these  prove  that 
from  the  most  unpromising  stock,  when  it  is  properly 
manipulated,  human  material  as  sound  and  good  as  any 
other  may  be  fashioned. 

The  opposition  between  these  views  is  unmistakable,  and 
the  reader  may  well  think  them  as  completely  contrary  as 
two  theories  of  the  same  facts  can  be.     It  may  seem  to  him, 

1  Out  of  about  1,000  persons  in  five  generations,  300  died  in  infancy; 
310  spent  2,300  years  in  almshouses;  440  were  wrecked  by  disease;  130  were 
convicted  criminals  (including  7  murderers);  and  only  20  learned  a  trade  ! 
See  Keatinge,  "  Studies  in  Education,"  p.  27. 


106    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

therefore,  perverse  to  suggest  that  their  unity  is,  after  all, 
more  fundamental  than  their  difference,  and  that  the  quarrel 
between  them  is  so  virulent  just  because  it  is  a  domestic  quarrel 
between  members  of  the  same  family.  Yet  consideration  will 
show  that  this  view  is  correct.  At  bottom  the  Galtonian  and 
Herbartian  views  are  both  variants  of  the  mechanistic  con- 
ception of  life.  According  to  the  former,  if  we  provide  a  child 
with  a  happily  selected  ancestry  it  makes  comparatively 
little  difference  how  we  educate  him ;  according  to  the  latter,  if 
we  educate  him  properly  his  ancestry  is  of  negligible  import- 
ance. This  contradiction  is  so  striking  that  it  obscures  the 
fact  that  the  Galtonians  hold  that  the  child's  being  is  deter- 
mined irrevocably  by  nature  no  more  firmly  than  the  Herbar- 
tians  hold  that  it  is  fatally  moulded  by  nurture.  Upon  either 
view  we  must  admit  that  the  potter  has  power  over  the  clay 
to  make  one  vessel  unto  honour  and  another  unto  dishonour. 
The  only  alternatives  left  open  are  that  if  we  follow  Galton 
we  shall  identify  the  potter  with  the  blind  forces  of  heredity, 
working  pre-natally,  while  if  we  prefer  Herbart  we  shall 
discern  the  potter's  work  in  the  post-natal  influences  of 
home  and  school. 

In  distinction  from  both  these  views  our  doctrine  asserts 
that  the  living  organism  has  a  principle  of  autonomy,  of  self- 
I  determination,  which  does  not,  indeed,  make  it  independent 
1  of  endowment  and  environment,  but  does  enable  it  to  give  its 
own  characteristic  form  to,  and  make  its  own  original  use  of, 
what  it  derives  from  those  sources.  We  have,  then,  no 
difficulty  in  admitting  both  that  the  fertilized  cell  with  which 
the  life  of  the  individual  begins  contains  engrams  whose  un- 
folding is  manifested  in  its  spiritual  equally  with  its  physical 
growth,  and  also  that  the  organism  is  so  much  one  with  its 
physical  and  spiritual  environment  that  the  two  cannot  be 
separated.  For  the  fundamental  truth  is,  for  us,  that  it 
is  a  centre  of  creative  energy  which  uses  endowment 
and    environment   as   its   medium;   so  that  the   elements 


NATURE  AND  NURTURE  107 

it  receives  from  nature  and  nurture  do  not  themselves 
make  it  what  it  is,  except  in  so  far  as  they  are  the 
bases  of  the  free  activity  which  is  the  essential  fact  of  its 
existence. 

Considering,  however,  the  rival  doctrines  on  their  merits, 
it  seems  clear  that  the  Galtonian  view  underestimates  the 
importance  of  "  social  heredity,"  and  so  tends  towards  a 
pessimistic  view  of  the  possibilities  of  average  humanity. 
Medical  psychologists,  and  other  observers  whose  work 
brought  them  into  intimate  contact  with  the  minds  of  private 
soldiers  during  the  great  war,  were  often  struck  by  the  immense 
amount  of  talent  which  an  unenlightened  education  and  a 
depressing  social  system  have  conspired  to  inhibit  (see  p.  86). 
And  there  is  good  evidence  that  what  is  certainly  true  of  our 
own  people  is  also  true  of  many  of  the  "  backward  peoples." 
For  instance,  from  the  fact  that  the  Murray  Islanders  had  no 
words  for  counting  beyond  six  and  could  refer  to  larger 
numbers  only  in  the  vaguest  way,  it  seemed  a  fair  inference 
that  their  nature  lacked  the  conditions  of  mathematical 
ability.  Yet  under  the  ministrations  of  a  Scottish  dominie 
their  children  are  said  to  have  developed  a  virtuosity  in  arith- 
metic that  would  have  delighted  any  school  inspector  of  the 
old  regime.  And  as  these  words  are  written,  comes  the  striking 
message  of  Sir  Hugh  Clifford  to  the  Gold  Coast  Colony,  from 
which  one  gathers  that  a  most  unpromising  race  is  proving 
itself  capable  of  developing,  under  wise  guidance,  adminis- 
trative gifts  and  industrial  aptitudes  commonly  thought  to 
be  confined  to  the  higher  peoples. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  too  easy  optimism  of  the  neo- 
Herbartians  leads  them  to  underestimate  the  differences  in 
general  and  specific  capacity  that  limit  the  possibilities  of 
individuals  with  adamantine  rigour.  Inspired  by  a  worthy 
but  rather  crude  belief  in  the  "  power  of  ideas,"  they  think 
of  the  soul  as  an  artefact  that  may  be  fashioned,  by  a  suffi- 
ciently skilful  treatment,  in  accordance  with  almost  any  pre- 


108    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

conceived  plan.  Writers  of  this  school  are,  therefore,  only 
consistent  in  treating  with  marked  coolness  the  idea  that  to 
cultivate  individuality  is  the  proper  aim  of  education.1  Their 
attitude,  which  minimizes  the  influence  of  native  capacity, 
would,  if  translated  into  practice,  lead  to  much  educational 
waste.  Dr.  Keatinge  illustrates  this  point  by  an  extreme  but 
apposite  case :  "  The  influence  in  a  school  of  a  good  musical 
teacher  upon  a  number  of  only  moderately  gifted  pupils  will, 
in  succeeding  generations,  prove  to  be  almost  negligible  from 
every  standpoint  in  comparison  with  the  influence  upon  the 
society  of  their  time,  of  a  family  of,  say,  four  or  five  musical 
children,  who  have  been  brought  up  in  musical  surroundings, 
have  drunk  in  traditions  of  music  with  every  pore,  and  go 
forth  into  the  world  ready  to  promote  musical  interests,  and 
in  turn  to  found  families  in  which  this  particular  art  will  be 
cultivated  with  zeal."2 

Accepting,  as  we  must,  the  position  that  variations  in 
native  capacity  cannot  be  ignored,  we  must  next  inquire  what 
forms  they  take  and  how  they  can  be  estimated.  Here  we 
enter  upon  one  of  the  most  important  chapters  of  recent  psycho- 
logy. The  first  episode  centres  round  the  attempt  of  the  late 
Alfred  Binet  to  determine  a  "  metric  scale  of  intelligence." 
The  starting-point  of  his  researches  was  a  problem  of  painful 
interest  to  administrators  in  most  great  cities — namely,  to 

1  There  is,  we  may  remark,  some  risk  of  confounding  two  things  which 
may  be  distinguished  as  Bocial  and  individual  education.  No  one  can 
question  that  persistent  educational  pressure  may  alter  the  whole  intellectual 
and  spiritual  orientation  of  a  people.  The  modern  transformation  of 
Japan  is  usually  quoted  as  the  leading  case,  though  Mr.  Benjamin  Kidd 
may  be  right  in  declaring  the  "  Prussianixation  of  Germany" — effected 
in  a  generation  very  largely  by  the  influence  of  the  schools — to  be  the  most 
important  instance.  Kidd  may  also  be  right  in  maintaining  that  if  the 
schools  worked  together  in  the  proper  direction  they  might,  in  twenty- five 
years,  purge  Europe  of  some  of  the  worst  evils  that  have  desolated  its  history. 
But  this  permeation  of  a  society  by  certain  ideas,  although  enormously 
important,  is  but  the  beginning  of  education  as  we  conceive  it;  for  it  is,  after 
all,  only  the  provision  of  an  environment.  The  arguments  in  favour  of 
leaving  the  individual  to  make  his  own  use  of  the  environment  come  subse- 
quently into  play,  and  still  retain  all  their  force. 
a  "  Studies  in  Education,"  p.  43. 


NATURE  AND  NURTURE  109 

determine  whether  the  backwardness  that  so  often  makes  it 
impossible  for  a  child  to  keep  pace  with  others  of  the  same  age 
is,  in  a  given  case,  due  to  mental  defect  or  merely  to  unfavour- 
able conditions,  such  as  constant  removal  from  school  to 
school.  Binet  began  with  the  hypothesis  that  every  child 
has  a  definite  fund  of  native  capacity  or  intelligence  that 
would  carry  him,  even  if  he  received  no  teaching,  a  certain 
distance  forward  during  each  of  the  formative  years  of  life. 
There  is,  for  example,  a  time  in  the  life  of  each  child  at  which 
he  has  "  picked  up  "  the  facts  that  he  has  eyes,  ears  and  a 
nose ;  a  time  when  he  knows  the  names  and  order  of  the  days 
of  the  week ;  a  time  when  he  can  carry  in  his  head  instructions 
of  a  certain  complexity;  a  time  when  he  can  disentangle  the 
right  conclusion  from  the  data  of  a  certain  kind  of  argument, 
and  can  see  through  a  certain  kind  of  fallacy;  and  so  on. 
The  psychologist  sought,  by  examining  a  large  number  of 
young  Parisians,  to  determine  which  of  such  non-scholastic 
accomplishments  belong,  on  the  average,  to  the  several  years 
of  childhood.  The  list,  once  compiled,  was  to  serve  as  a 
metric  scale  for  fixing  the  "  mental  age  "  of  any  child  to  whom 
it  was  applied.  Thus,  if  a  child,  born  ten  years  ago,  could  just 
pass  the  tests  of  the  tenth  group,  his  "  mental "  would  be 
deemed  identical  with  his  "  chronological "  age;  if  he  failed 
to  deal  with  those  beyond  the  eighth  group,  his  mental 
age  would  be  judged  to  be  eight — i.e.,  two  years  behind  his 
chronological  age.  It  remained  only  to  decide  what  degree 
of  retardation  of  the  mental  behind  the  chronological  age 
made  it  impracticable  to  teach  a  child  together  with  his 
coevals,  and  warranted  his  removal  to  a  special  school.  Binet 
ultimately  adopted  as  his  criterion  a  retardation  of  three 
years. 

It  is  impossible  to  follow  here  the  development  of  this 
interesting  enterprise  of  the  "  new  psychology."  Binet's 
scheme  offered  several  openings  for  criticisms:  for  example, 
(i.)  the  allocation  of  tests  to  the  different  years,  which,  being 


110    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

based  on  the  achievements  of  the  Paris  gamin,  were  hardly 
likely  to  be  paralleled  exactly  by  those  of  his  representatives 
in  other  cultures  and  climes;  (ii.)  the  mode  of  deciding  the 
mental  age  of  a  child  who  fails  in  some  of  the  tests  of  a  given 
year  yet  passes  in  others  assigned  to  a  later  year;  (iii.)  the 
estimation  of  mental  defect.  On  the  first  point,  the  tendency 
has  been  to  drop  the  tests  of  knowledge  and  rely  on  the  tests 
of  faculty1  which  have  a  wider  validity.  As  regards  (ii.), 
the  present  tendency  is  to  aesign  "  points  "  or  marks  to  the 
tests,  and  to  fix  the  mental  age  in  terms  of  the  sum-total 
obtained  by  the  candidate.  In  the  estimation  of  backward- 
ness the  greatest  improvement  has  been  made  by  Mr.  Cyril 
Burt,  whose  contributions  to  the  subject  of  mental  tests  have 
great  value.  Burt  found,  by  the  examination  of  a  large  num- 
ber of  London  school-children,  that  the  "  standard  deviation  " 
of  the  mental  age  is  always  normally  about  one-tenth  of  the 
chronological  age,  while,  in  the  case  of  mentally  deficient 
children,  it  is  about  four  and  a  half  times  as  great.  He 
proposes,  therefore,  to  use  the  standard  deviation  as 
the  unit  in  measuring  divergencies  above  or  below  the 
normal.2 

1  The  power  to  count  backwards  is,  for  those  who  have  not  practised 
the  exercise,  a  simple  test  of  faculty.  Another  is  to  deal  with  such  questions 
as  the  following  (which  the  author  has  borrowed  from  Dr.  P.  B.  Ballard): 
"  Captain  Cook  made  three  voyages  round  the  world.  In  one  of  his  voyages 
he  was  killed  and  eaten  by  savages.  In  which  voyage  did  that  happen  ?" 
Such  tests  demand,  of  course,  a  certain  minimum  of  knowledge,  but  the 
essential  requirement  is  a  synthetic  power  in  which  minds  of  low  develop- 
ment will  be  defective. 

a  There  are  two  ways  of  measuring  the  variation  in  mental  age  among 
the  children  of  a  group  who  have  the  same  chronological  age.  One  is  to 
take  the  several  differences  between  the  mental  ages  and  the  common 
chronological  age,  to  add  them  together,  and  to  divide  by  the  number  of 
children.  The  number  thus  obtained  is  called  the  "mean  deviation"  of 
the  mental  ages  of  the  group.  The  other  way  is  to  square  the  differences, 
to  add  the  squares,  to  divide  the  sum  by  the  number  of  children,  and  to  take 
the  square  root  of  the  quotient.  This  gives  the  "root-mean-square"  or 
"standard"  deviation.  The  former  method  is  arithmetically  simpler,  but 
the  latter  is,  for  technical  reasons,  generally  to  be  preferred. 

The  reader  may  note  in  passing  that  Burt's  interesting  discovery  contra- 
dicts the  view,  cherished  by  many  teachers  and  sometimes  preached  by 


NATURE  AND  NURTURE  111 

Binet  and  his  followers  have  generally  assumed,  explicitly 
or  implicitly,  that  they  were  dealing  in  their  tests  with  a  single 
kind  of  native  capacity,  "  general  intelligence  "  or  "  educa- 
tional ability,"  which  may  show  itself  most  prominently  in 
different  directions  in  different  children,  but  is  essentially 
one  thing  in  all  its  various  manifestations.  The  second  phase 
in  the  history  of  our  topic  consists  of  the  researches  whose 
express  purpose  has  been  to  test  that  assumption. 

Professor  C.  Spearman,  whose  work  upon  this  problem  is  of 
outstanding  importance,  has  classified  the  competing  views 
on  the  nature  of  intellectual  ability  into  "  non-focal,"  "  multi- 
focal," and  "  uni-focal."  Upon  the  non-focal  view — of  which 
Professor  Thorndike  was  once  the  leading  representative — 
a  man's  mind  is  a  bundle  of  numerous  and  totally  unrelated 
capacities.  That  means  that  from  a  man's  ability  to  do  one 
kind  of  thing  well  one  can  draw  no  inference  about  his  ability 
to  do  another  kind  of  thing;  one  must  simply  wait  and  see. 
The  multi-focal  view,  to  which  Thorndike  has  now  transferred 
his  allegiance,  holds  that  our  abilities  fall  into  a  small  number 
of  groups.  If  it  were  true,  we  could  infer  from  a  man's  ability 
to  do  one  thing  well  that  he  could  also  do  a  certain  number  of 
other  things  well,  but  could  make  no  inference  with  regard 
to  performance  beyond  the  purview  of  the  group  to  which  these 
belong.  The  common  idea  that  a  person  may  be  clever  at 
languages,  and  yet  have  no  head  for  mathematics,  is  a  popular 
rendering  of  this  view.  According  to  the  uni-focal  theory,  all 
forms  of  intellectual  ability  are  related;  there  is  a  common 
element  running  through  them,  in  virtue  of  which  inference 
from  one  to  another  is  always  possible.  This  is  clearly  the 
assumption  involved  in  the  practice  of  choosing  public  officials 

inspectors,  that  the  result  of  good  teaching  should  be  to  minimize  the  differ- 
ences between  the  more  and  the  less  able  members  of  a  class;  for  it  shows 
that  divergence  in  ability  produces,  as  indeed  one  might  expect,  a  differ- 
ence which  is  proportional  to  the  length  of  time  it  has  been  acting.  One 
has  here  another  argument  for  treating  the  individual  as  the  unit  of 
instruction. 


112    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

by  competitive  examination  in  "  general  "  or  "  academic  " 
subjects.  Needing  young  men  of  sufficient  ability  to  ad- 
minister the  Indian  Empire  or  the  home  service,  we  select 
those  who,  under  the  conditions  of  the  examination-room, 
turn  out  the  best  set  of  Greek  verses  or  solve  the  greatest 
number  of  differential  equations,  and  send  them  to  the  East 
or  to  Whitehall,  confident  that  those  who  have  shown  the 
highest  ability  in  the  one  direction  will  prove  to  be  most  able 
also  in  the  other.  The  same  belief  is  the  keystone  of  Carlyle's 
argument  in  the  "  Heroes." 

Spearman  himself  holds  the  third  view,  and  has  defended 
it  with  great  ability  in  a  series  of  highly  important  memoirs. 
His  methods  are  too  technical  for  these  pages,  but  the  general 
nature  of  the  argument  may  be  understood  from  the  following 
explanation. 

Let  us  suppose  a  very  large  group  of  persoDs  to  be  tested 
and  to  receive  marks  for  ability  in  a  number  of  directions 
that  have  no  obvious  connection  with  one  another.  (The 
ability  to  add  up  figures  rapidly,  and  the  ability  to  tell  which 
of  two  notes  has  the  higher  pitch,  would  be  examples  fulfilling 
this  condition.)  Suppose  further  that  the  marks  are  so 
assigned  that  performances  of  equal  merit  in  the  several  tests 
always  receive  the  same  marks,  and  that  the  mean  mark  given 
is  50  per  cent.  Then  three  results  are  a  priori  possible, 
(i.)  The  faculties  involved  in  the  several  tests  may,  though 
they  look  very  different,  be  really  the  same.  In  that  case, 
apart  from  accident,  a  person's  marks  in  all  the  tests  would 
be  the  same;  if  he  earned,  say  80  or  10  per  cent,  in  the  first, 
he  would  earn  80  or  10  per  cent,  in  all.  (ii.)  The  faculties  may 
be  as  different  as  they  appear.  In  that  case  there  will  be  no 
congruity  between  the  positions  of  the  same  person  in  the 
different  tests.  It  follows  that  if  we  select  from  the  whole 
group  those  who  earn  more  than  50  per  cent,  in  the  first  test, 
their  average  mark  in  any  other  test  will  be  exactly  50;  for 
their  superior  ability  as  a  body  is  confined  to  the  first  test,  and 


NATURE  AND  NURTURE  113 

implies  neither  superiority  nor  inferiority  in  another, 
(iii.)  The  situation  may  be  intermediate  between  these  ex- 
tremes. A  person's  skill  in  the  several  tests  may  depend  in 
part  upon  a  common  faculty  which  is  brought  into  play  in 
every  performance,  and  in  part  upon  specific  faculties  that 
come  into  action  in  one  only.  In  that  case,  the  results  will 
depend  upon  the  relative  importance  of  the  common  and  the 
specific  faculties  in  a  given  test.  Let  us  suppose  that  in  the 
first  test  a  person's  position  depends  chiefly  upon  the  amount 
he  possesses  of  the  common  faculty.  Then  the  persons  who 
gain  more  than  50  marks  in  the  first  test  will  have  in  any  other 
test  an  average  mark  above  50.  For  however  important  the 
specific  faculty  may  be  that  comes  into  play  in  the  second 
test,  those  persons  will,  as  a  body,  have  an  average  amount  of 
it,  while  they  more  than  have  an  average  amount  of  the 
common  faculty. 

By  an  elaborate  application  of  this  kind  of  reasoning, 
Professor  Spearman  claims  that  he  has  placed  beyond  doubt 
the  truth  of  the  unifocal  theory — that  is,  that  there  is  running 
through  all  forms  of  intellectual  ability  a  "  central  intellective 
factor  "  which  is  everywhere  one  and  the  same,  although  it 
is  combined  in  action  with  different  local  factors  that  are 
specific  to  the  several  forms  of  ability.  It  must,  however, 
be  said  that  the  validity  of  the  reasoning  has,  quite  recently, 
been  acutely  questioned  by  Dr.  Godfrey  Thomson,  who, 
while  neither  denying  nor  affirming  the  unifocal  theory, 
maintains  that  it  is  not  established  by  the  experimental 
facts  upon  which  Spearman  relies. 

At  the  present  moment,  then,  that  theory  must  be  regarded 
as  still  sub  judice.  It  may  well  be  that,  as  so  often  happens 
in  the  history  of  science,  the  simple  idea  it  presents  may  have 
to  be  qualified.  Meanwhile,  its  substantial  truth  seems 
constantly  to  be  confirmed  by  results  which  are  not  easily 
interpreted  on  any  other  basis.  By  far  the  most  striking 
are  the  results  of  the  "  mental  tests  "  applied  during  the  Great 

8 


114    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

War  to  about  a  million  and  a  half  recruits  in  the  American 
Army.  The  object  of  the  tests  was  to  select  promptly  the 
men  whose  superior  mental  powers  marked  them  out  for 
employment  in  special  posts  or  specially  important  organiza- 
tions, to  eliminate  those  whose  inferiority  would  make  them 
a  hindrance  or  a  danger  to  their  fellows,  and  to  make  it  possible 
to  equalize  the  mental  strength  of  units,  such  as  infantry 
companies,  which  were  intended  to  work  together.  Each 
recruit  was  required  to  answer,  by  underlining,  crossing  out 
or  checking,  a  paper  of  212  questions.  The  process  took 
only  fifty  minutes,  and  could  be  applied  at  one  time  to  groups 
as  large  as  500.1 

The  verdicts  of  the  mental  tests  were  compared  in  some 
thousands  of  instances  with  the  judgments  of  officers  who  had 
the  same  men  under  observation  under  conditions  specially 
favourable  for  assessing  their  military  value.  The  results 
of  the  comparison  are  most  impressive;  for  they  show  that 
in  a  great  majority  of  cases  the  predictions  of  the  psychologist, 
based  upon  a  fifty  minutes'  test,  were  fully  confirmed  by  the 
subsequent  behaviour  of  the  men  in  the  vastly  different 
circumstances  of  the  camp  and  the  training  school. 

This  large-scale  experiment  cannot  fail  to  stimulate  other 
attempts  to  use  mental  tests  for  the  rapid  discrimination  of 
ability.  They  have  for  some  years  been  employed,  here  and 
there  in  this  country,  as  an  ancillary  means  of  selecting 
scholars  for  promotion  at  public  expense  to  secondary  schools. 
More  recently  they  have  been  used  with  typical  Teutonic 

1  In  addition  to  simple  arithmetical  problems  and  exercises  in  checking 
opposites  (e.g.,  lax — strict,  assert — maintain)  the  questions  tested  the  power 
to  discriminate  good  reasons  from  bad  (e.g.,  leather  is  used  for  shoes  because 
(i.)  it  is  produced  in  all  countries,  (ii.)  it  wears  well,  (iii.)  it  is  an  animal  pro- 
duct), and  the  power  to  carry  out  instructions  under  more  or  less  compli- 
cated conditions  (eg.,  "  If  5  is  more  than  3,  cross  out  the  number  4  in  the 
given  row  of  figures  unless  4  is  more  than  6,  in  which  case  draw  a  line  under 
the  number  5"). 

Illiterates  and  foreigners  took  tests  in  which  the  instructions  were 
conveyed  by  pantomime  and  demonstration.  Those  who  failed  were 
examined  individually  by  tests  of  the  Binet  type. 


NATURE  AND  NURTURE  115 

thoroughness  and  rigour  to  pick  out  boys  capable  of  profiting 
by  an  "  intensive  course  "  at  a  school  for  higher  talents  in 
Berlin.  And  it  is  now  understood  that  the  authorities  of 
Columbia  University,  recognizing  that  success  in  a  pass 
examination  of  the  academic  type  is  an  inadequate  guarantee 
of  the  ability  needed  to  make  good  use  of  a  higher  education, 
will  henceforward  require  their  candidates  to  submit  to 
mental  tests  before  matriculation. 

Scarcely  less  significant  are  the  numerous  attempts  now 
being  made  to  discriminate  individual  ability  for  work  in- 
volving a  definite  group  of  specific  factors.  It  is  understood 
that  these  "  vocational  tests  "  have  been  used  in  the  British 
Army  in  the  selection  of  air-pilots,  and  they  are  rapidly  finding 
their  way  into  the  world  of  industry,  particularly  in  America. 
An  interesting,  though  rather  complicated,  example  is  offered 
by  the  ingenious  procedure  devised  by  Hugo  Miinsterberg 
of  Harvard  for  selecting  men  whose  psychological  make-up 
fitted  them  for  employment  as  drivers  of  electric  street-cars. 
The  candidate  was  required  to  turn  a  crank  so  as  to  cause  a 
narrow  window  to  run  along  a  card,  which  was  to  be  taken  as 
representing  a  street.  The  card  was  marked  out  in  half- 
inch  squares  and  was  ruled  with  a  couple  of  heavy  lines,  half 
an  inch  apart,  to  represent  rails.  Certain  squares  were 
occupied  by  figures:  1  standing  for  a  pedestrian,  2  for  a 
horse-vehicle,  3  for  an  automobile.  Differences  of  colour 
indicated  whether  the  occupant  of  a  square  was  to  be  taken 
as  moving  parallel  to  or  across  the  track,  and  there  were 
conventions  with  regard  to  the  speed — a  horse  being  supposed 
to  travel  twice,  an  automobile  three  times,  as  fast  as  a  pedes- 
trian. The  point  of  the  test  was  to  discover  whether,  as  the 
movement  of  the  window  brought  the  figures  rapidly  into 
view,  the  man  could  react  promptly  to  their  significance — 
stopping  the  crank  in  good  time  when  the  position,  value 
and  colour  of  a  figure  indicated  an  imminent  collision,  turning 
on  serenely  when,  in  accordance  with  the  conventions,  there 


116    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

was  no  danger.  Experienced  motor-men  reported  that  the 
test  demanded  the  same  kind  of  adjustments  of  attention, 
and  the  same  readiness  of  discrimination  as  actual  driving  in 
a  crowded  street,  and  stirred  up  the  same  tendencies  to 
hesitation  and  fluster.  Moreover,  Munsterberg  found  that 
a  classification  of  the  motor-men  on  the  basis  of  their  success 
in  the  test  agreed  well  with  the  classification  furnished  by 
the  railway  company.  Thus  it  would  appear  that  the  test 
was  really  capable  of  distinguishing  those  who  had  in  them 
the  makings  of  good  motor-men  from  those  who  were  pre- 
destined to  failure,  through  lack  of  the  requisite  psychological 
equipment. 

It  is  evident  that  there  should  be  important  scope  in  the 
field  of  education  for  both  general  ability  tests  and  vocational 
tests.  It  may,  however,  be  asked  whether  the  antithesis 
between  them  is  theoretically  sound;  that  is,  whether  voca- 
tional fitness  does  not  largely  depend  on  the  presence  of  other 
elements — for  instance,  moral  elements — that  are  just  as 
general  in  their  functions  as  Spearman's  central  intellective 
factor.  The  psychologists  have  not  missed  that  question.  For 
example,  Dr.  E.  Webb,  a  pupil  of  Professor  Spearman,  has 
inquired  what  psychological  factors  in  a  man,  as  distinguished 
from  the  actual  qualities,  good  or  bad,of  his  actions,  determine 
the  judgments  which  others  pass  upon  his  character.  For 
this  purpose,  he  obtained  a  number  of  assessments  of  the 
mental  qualities  of  about  200  training  college  students. 
The  assessors  were  mainly  fellow-students  holding  responsible 
positions  in  the  social  body,  and  their  judgments  were  given 
under  thirty-nine  heads,  ranging  from  emotional  qualities, 
such  as  tendencies  to  cheerfulness  or  anger,  to  intellectual 
qualities,  such  as  common-sense  and  originality.  From  a 
statistical  analysis  of  the  results,  conducted  as  in  Spearman's 
researches,  Webb  concluded  (i.)  that  judgments  of  character 
rest  on  a  basis  independent  of  the  central  intellective 
factor  (g),  and  (ii.)  that  this  basis  is,  or  includes  a  second 


NATURE  AND  NURTURE  117 

central  factor  (w)  which  may  be  shortly  described  as  "  the 
persistence  of  motives." 

Quite  recently  Mr.  J.  C.  Maxwell  Garnett,  working  over 
the  same  data,  has  brought  to  light  a  third  independent 
factor  which  is  closely  related  to  humour  and  originality, 
and  is  called  by  its  investigator  "  cleverness  "(c).  As  he 
points  out  in  his  brilliant  but  recondite  paper,  high  values 
of  c  distinguish  the  artists  and  poets  and  other  men  of  genius 
from  the  scientific  journeymen  and  plodding  philosophers 
whose  achievements  presuppose  only  a  high  value  of  g. 
And  he  makes  the  ingenious  suggestion  that  the  general 
nature  of  a  person's  endowment  may  be  registered  by  a 
single  point  in  a  tri-dimensional  record  or  graph,  the  co- 
ordinates of  the  point  being  the  values  of  the  three  independent 
factors  described  by  Spearman,  Webb  and  himself. 

These  fascinating  researches  are  in  a  field  that  admittedly 
needs  further  exploration.  It  is,  however,  tempting  to  think 
that  the  factors  g,  c  and  w  may  be  fundamental  characters 
of  all  hormic  activity,  unconscious  and  conscious.  Their 
values,  symbolized  by  Mr.  Garnett's  graphic  point,  would  be 
in  a  special  sense  diagnostic  of  the  promise  and  potency  of 
the  individual,  so  far  as  these  depend  on  his  endowment. 
They  would  have  a  much  deeper  significance  than  any 
specific  factors,  though  the  latter  have,  too,  a  bearing,  as  yet 
imperfectly  realized,  on  human  efficiency  and  happiness. 

If  these  speculations  should  prove  to  be  well-founded,  the 
importance  of  good  teaching  will  be  not  a  whit  diminished. 
On  the  contrary,  improvement  in  the  assessment  and  classifi- 
cation of  abilities  should  be  a  challenge  to  improvement  in  the 
types  of  training  provided  to  develop  their  possibilities. 
Moreover,  the  abilities  brought  to  light  by  psychological 
tests  are,  as  a  rule,  only  abstract  in  character ;  the  tests  do  not 
tell  us  what  a  child  will  aspire  to  do  or  to  be,  but  only  predict 
certain  formal  features  of  his  activity.  What  he  will  aspire 
to  do   and  be   is   determined,  subject  to  the  principle  of 


118    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

autonomy  which  is  the  ultimate  arbiter,  by  other  natural 
tendencies  of  a  more  concrete  nature.  One  of  these  is  the 
general  tendency  to  imitation,  which  we  shall  at  once 
proceed  to  study.  The  other  is  the  tendency  to  follow 
certain  specific  lines  of  activity — a  tendency  which  we 
shall  subsequently  consider  under  the  heading  of  instinct. 


NOTES  ON  BOOKS,  ETC. 

M.  W.  Keatinge,  "Studies  in  Education,"  chapa.  ii.,  iii.  (Black, 
1916),  contains  a  useful  discussion  of  the  influence  of  "nature,"  friendly 
to  the  Galtonian  view.  The  view  is  put  forth,  in  an  uncompromising  form, 
in  C.  Coking,  "  The  English  Convict"  (published,  with  a  l'reface  by  Karl 
Pearson,  by  H.M.  Stationery  Office,  1919).  The  opposite  side  is  most 
vigorously  championed  in  F.  H.  Hayward,  "  Education  and  the  Heredity 
Spectre"  (Watts,  1903).  B.  Kidd,  "The  Science  of  Power"  (Methuen,  1918) 
is  an  eloquent  but  somewhat  unscientific  plea  for  the  same  view.  A  con- 
venient summary  of  the  literature  of  mental  tests  is  given  in  R.  R.  Rusk, 
"Experimental  Education"  (Longmans,  new  ed.  1919);  G.  M.  Whipple, 
"Manual  of  Mental  and  Physical  Tests"  (Warwick  and  York,  1910)  is  the 
standard  technical  treatise  on  the  subject.  A.  Binet's  pioneer  work  is 
most  conveniently  studied  in  his  book,  "  Les  I  dees  modernes  sur  les  Enfants" 
(Flammarion,  1910);  the  latest  phase  of  the  tests  is  described  in  L.  M. 
Terman,  "The  Measurement  of  Intelligence"  (Harrap,  1919).  C.  Burt, 
"  Three  Preliminary  Memoranda  on  the  Distribution  and  Relations  of  Edu- 
cational Abilities"  (P.  S.  King,  1916),  contains  the  survey  mentioned  on 
p.  110.  Spearman's  numerous  researches  are  summarized  in  an  article, 
C.  Spearman  and  B.  Hart,  "General  Ability,  its  Existence  and  Nature" 
(Brit.  Journ.  of  Psych.,  vol  v.,  pt.  1,  March,  1912);  Webb's  are  given  in  full 
in  E.  Webb,  "Character  and  Intelligence"  (Camb.  Univ.  Press,  1915). 
The  important  papers  by  J.  C.  M.  Garnett  and  G.  H.  Thomson  are  both 
printed  in  the  Brit.  Journ.  of  Psych.,  vol.  ix.,  parts  3  and  4,  May,  1919 
(Camb.  Univ.  Press).  Spearman's  reply  to  Thomson  will  appear  in  Psych. 
Rev.  for  May,  1920.  H.  Munsterberg's  experiments  are  quoted  from 
his  "Psychology  and  Industrial  Efficiency"  (Houghton  Mifflin  Co.,  1913). 
A  pamphlet  by  C.  S.  Myers,  "Present-Day  Applications  of  Psychology" 
(Methuen,  1918),  gives  a  simple  and  attractive  sketch  of  the  vocational  and 
industrial  applications  of  psychology.  The  Berlin  experiment  mentioned 
on  p.  115  is  described  fully  by  G.  Wolff  in  the  Pddagogische  Zeitung  for 
February  28th,  1918. 


CHAPTER  X 

IMITATION 

Imitation  is  to  be  understood  here  as  the  general  tendency 
shown  by  an  individual  to  take  over  from  others  their  modes 
of  action,  feeling  and  thought.  It  ranges  widely  through  the 
animal  kingdom,  and  its  effects  are  so  subtly  interwoven  with 
those  of  specific  heredity  that  the  two  are  hard  to  disentangle. 
The  present  tendency  is  to  give  more  weight  than  formerly 
to  imitation.  For  instance,  in  accounting  for  the  resemblances 
in  material  and  social  culture  so  often  found  between  widely 
severed  communities,  present-day  anthropologists  appeal  to 
imitative  "  culture-spread  "  rather  than  to  "  evolution  " 
based  upon  similarity  in  endowment.1  And  it  seems  that 
even  among  lower  animals  the  role  of  imitation  has  been 
underestimated.  Young  chicks  and  pheasants  are  often 
first  set  pecking  and  drinking  by  the  example  of  their  seniors 
or  more  adventurous  companions,  and  jungle  pheasants  and 
young  ostriches  are  said  to  perish  of  hunger  in  the  absence  of 
this  natural  stimulus  to  pecking,  or  of  such  a  colourable  copy 
of  it  as  an  experimenter  can  give  by  tapping  with  a  pencil. 

As  the  foregoing  examples  indicate,  imitation  appears  at 
all  levels  of  conscious  activity,  The  behaviour  of  the  chick 
in  learning  to  peck  or  drink  illustrates  what  Professor  Lloyd 
Morgan  calls  "  biological "  or  "  instinctive  "  imitation.  This 
is  the  lowest  level.  At  the  highest  level  we  have  "  reflective  " 
or  deliberate  imitation,  of  which  the  regeneration  of  Japan 
offers,  perhaps,  the  most  grandiose  example  in  history.    In 

1  See  W.   H.   R.   Rivers,  "The  Ethnological  Analysis    of    Culture" 
(Report  of  British  Association  for  1911,  p.  490 J. 

119 


120    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

human  behaviour  the  two  types  pass  into  one  another  by 
insensible  gradations.  Let  us  consider  a  simple  instance. 
A  little  girl,  released  with  her  comrades  from  lessons,  runs  if 
they  run,  and  joins  in  chasing  and  being  chased  just  as  a  young 
dog  would  do  in  comparable  circumstances.  This  is  biological 
imitation,  pure  and  simple,  involving  no  trace  or  only  a 
minimum  of  deliberation.  If  her  special  friend,  who  has 
learnt  the  art  of  "  tripping,"  breaks  into  that  mode  of  pro- 
gression, she  will  be  sure,  sooner  or  later,  to  copy  the  move- 
ment, reproducing  it  at  first  clumsily,  but  in  time  with  ease  and 
grace.  Here  there  is  an  element  of  deliberation ;  for  tripping, 
though  a  simple  variant  of  running,  is  not  in  the  same  sense  a 
natural  movement,  and  cannot  be  imitated  without  a  certain 
amount  of  attention  to  its  details.  Now,  suppose  the  child, 
a  year  or  two  older,  to  see  her  elders  skipping  with  a  rope. 
If  she,  too,  is  to  become  a  skipper,  as  she  certainly  will,  she 
must  give  more  attention  than  in  the  last  case  to  the  pattern 
or  "  idea  "  of  the  movement;  for  it  is  at  once  more  artificial 
and  more  complicated.  This  is  still  more  necessary  when,  at 
a  later  age,  she  takes  part,  say,  in  a  figure-dance  in  which  an 
elaborate  scheme  of  movements  is  to  be  carried  out  by  a 
group  of  performers.  To  apprehend  the  pattern  of  the  dance, 
to  retain  it  in  mind,  and  to  translate  into  continuous  and  nicely 
adjusted  action  the  part  assigned  to  her,  will  demand  the 
intelligent  exercise  of  intellectual  powers  as  well  as  mastery 
of  the  constituent  movements.  Biological  has  here  passed 
unmistakably  into  reflective  imitation. 

We  have  now  material  for  observations  on  two  important 
points.  The  first  is  the  relation  of  imitative  behaviour  to 
endowment,  the  second  its  relation  to  "  original  "  behaviour. 

It  is  evident  that  in  strictly  biological  imitation  the  action 
imitated  is  simply  a  stimulus  which  releases  in  the  imitator 
a  train  of  activity  already  prepared.  A  chick  standing  in 
water  would  not  for  the  first  time  drink  when  it  sees  its  mother 
drink,  a  child  for  the  first  time  seeing  another  run  would  not 


IMITATION  121 

run,  unless  the  engram-complexes  involved  in  drinking  or  in 
running  were  already  established  in  the  disposition.  As 
imitation  rises  towards  the  reflective  level  this  statement 
must  be  modified.  There  is,  for  instance,  no  innate  engram- 
complex  waiting  to  be  released  in  the  form  of  skipping; 
skipping  must  be  learnt.  At  most  there  is  an  innate  disposi- 
tion to  be  interested  in  behaviour  of  this  kind,  to  be  attracted 
to  it  as  a  mode  of  self-assertion.  Nevertheless,  all  the  elements 
of  the  artificial  movement  are  rooted  in  nature.  What  happens 
in  learning  to  skip  is  that  these  elements  are  brought  into 
relations  to  which  nothing  in  the  original  engram-complexes 
corresponds.  Our  remarks  upon  one  of  Thorndike's  experi- 
ments (p.  45)  will  help  us  here.  The  child,  faced  by  a  situa- 
tion that  impels  to  action,  will  be  urged  to  a  number  of  move- 
ments, more  or  less  relevant,  from  which,  by  trial  and  error, 
the  proper  sequence  will  eventually  be  selected.  Once 
selected,  it  becomes  fixed  and  perfected  by  "  consolidation  " 
(p.  46).  But  there  is  in  this  case  a  factor  absent  from  the 
behaviour  of  Thorndike's  imprisoned  cats — the  child's  power 
to  apprehend  the  pattern  or  idea  of  another's  action  and  use 
it  as  a  guide  for  her  own.  That  power  consists  in  the  child's 
ability,  first,  to  apprehend  the  elements  of  the  pattern  as 
corresponding  to  actions  she  can  already  perform,  and, 
secondly,  to  apprehend  the  elements  in  their  relations  as 
forming  a  significant  whole.1  The  pattern  having  been 
apprehended,  the  child  strives  to  set  up  between  the  move- 
ments of  which,  by  hypothesis,  she  is  already  mistress, 
relations  corresponding  to  those  they  have  in  the  model. 
This  can  be  done  only  by  trial  and  error,  the  process  being 
constantly  checked  by  comparison  with  the  action  imitated, 

1  Animals  have  both  these  powers,  but  in  a  much  lower  degree.  They 
can  di<criii  inate  or  pick  out  elements  in  a  complex,  and  they  can  eyidhesize 
or  recognize  unity  in  diversity;  for  these  accomplishments  are  involved 
in  all  response,  whether  instinctive  or  intelligent,  to  changes  in  the  environ- 
ment. But  the  range  of  their  discrimination  is  limited,  and  their  power  of 
synthesis  more  so;  and  they  cannot,  except  the  more  intelligent  ones  and  in 
simple  cases,  carry  a  pattern  "in  the  head." 


J  22    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

and  guided  by  the  applause  of  the  onlookers.  In  this  way 
an  engram-complex  is  finally  set  up  which  makes  skipping 
practically  automatic.  Later  this  complex  may  itself  function 
as  an  element  in  a  still  more  complicated  movement — for 
example,  a  skipping  dance;  or  may  furnish  organized  com- 
ponents— such  as  rhythmic  leaping — to  an  action  that  does 
not  involve  it  as  a  whole. 

The  connection  between  imitation  and  "  originality " 
has  the  greatest  importance  for  education.  Teachers  of  a 
modern  tendency  sometimes  discourage  imitation  on  the 
ground  that  it  "  cramps  self-expression."  This  is  a  mistake. 
The  most  original  minds  find  themselves  only  in  playing  the 
sedulous  ape  to  others  who  have  gone  before  them  along 
the  same  path  of  self-assertion.  In  his  earlier  works  we  cannot 
distinguish  even  the  voice  of  Shakespeare  from  the  voices  of 
his  contemporaries.  Imitation,  at  first  biological,  then 
reflective,  is,  in  fact,  but  the  first  stage  in  the  creation  of 
individuality,  and  the  richer  the  scope  for  imitation  the  richer 
the  developed  individuality  will  be.  Some  corollaries  to  this 
truth  are  obvious;  for  instance,  that  children  should  be 
introduced  through  books  to  a  wider  and  better  company 
than  they  will  meet  in  actual  life.  Others  require  more 
emphasis.  There  is  a  positive  danger  in  the  current  idea  that 
individual  teaching  requires  as  its  correlative  small  groups  of 
pupils.  On  the  contrary,  the  more  store  we  set  on  letting 
the  child  go  his  own  way,  the  more  desirable  it  is  to  widen 
the  field  for  imitation.  Clever  and  enterprising  children 
help  the  duller  and  less  adventurous  to  discover  their  own 
powers  by  showing  them  what  can  be  done,  and  by  awakening 
emulation.  The  group  should,  then,  be  as  large  as  possible,1 
subject  to  the  condition  that  the  teacher  is  not  driven  to  use 
the  authoritarian  methods  that  quench  the  tendency  to  imitate. 

1  In  the  oase  of  young  children,  at  any  rate,  there  is  much  to  be  said  for 
a  "vertical"  classification  into  parallel  groups,  each  of  which  contains  chil- 
dren of  different  ages.  See  Miss  Blackburn's  paper  in  the  Report  for  iyi6 
of  the  Conference  on  New  Ideals  in  Education,  p.  206. 


IMITATION  123 

This  condition  is  vital.  Any  attempt  to  compel  imitation 
tends  to  defeat  its  end  by  provoking  an  attitude  of  resistance 
or  indifference — a  fact  which  explains  the  failure  of  many 
well-meant  efforts  to  make  young  people  admire  the  proper 
things  in  literature,  art  and  conduct.  We  must  add  that 
this  "  contrariant  "  attitude,  which  is  a  protest  of  the  indivi- 
dual against  infringement  of  his  autonomy,  will  be  maintained 
with  special  stubbornness  towards  any  teacher  who  is  foolish 
enough  to  claim,  consciously  or  subconsciously,  to  be  accepted 
as  himself  (or  herself)  a  model  for  imitation. 

We  commenced  this  chapter  by  saying  that  imitation 
shows  itself  in  action,  feeling  and  thought.  These  factors  of 
conscious  life  are  so  closely  bound  up  with  one  another  that 
imitation,  beginning  in  one,  commonly  spreads  to  the  others. 
Thus,  among  girls,  imitation  of  an  admired  mistress,  which 
may  begin  with  copying  her  handwriting,  her  turns  of  speech 
and  her  coiffure,  often  ends  in  a  wholesale  adoption  of  her 
sentiments  and  opinions.  The  admirer  tends  to  become  like 
the  model,  so  to  speak,  all  through.  Anything  that  obstructs 
imitation  in  respect  of  one  of  the  factors  tends  to  hinder  it 
in  the  others.  We  do  not  usually  adopt  the  accent  or  dress 
of  a  person  we  dislike,  or  feel  moved  by  the  joys  or  sorrows 
of  one  whose  opinions  on  important  matters  clash  with  our 
own.  Thus  it  is  difficult  to  say  whether  the  difference  in 
speech  between  different  social  classes  is  more  a  cause  or  a 
consequence  of  the  divergence  between  their  interests;  in 
either  case  it  is  a  formidable  barrier  between  them.1  The 
elementary  schools  can  help  the  cause  of  social  solidarity  in 
no  more  practical  way  than  by  working  to  raise  the  standard 
of  speech  among  their  pupils,  so  that  we  may  become  a  people 
who  have  at  least  the  first  requirement  for  mutual  under- 
standing— a  common  language.2 

1  Bernard  Shaw's  play  "  Pygmalion  "  is  a  sermon  on  this  text. 

2  This  argument  does  not  point  to  the  suppression  of  regional  dialects 
where  they  have  form  and  vigour  as  well  as  being  racy  of  the  soil.  On  the 
contrary,  a  common  love  for  a  native  accent  and  idiom  may  often  be  a 
powerful  bond  between  social  classes. 


124    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

In  so  far  as  imitation  affects  feeling  it  leads  to  "  fellow- 
feeling  "  or  sympathy  in  the  strict  meaning  of  the  word. 
Here  it  does  its  most  important  work,  for  feeling,  as  we  shall 
later  see,  is  the  prime  mover  of  thought  and  action.  Much 
has  been  written  on  this  theme,  especially  by  certain  French 
authors  under  the  title  "  the  psychology  of  the  crowd."  It  is 
community  of  feeling  that  converts  a  mob  of  unrelated 
individuals  into  a  body  moved  by  a  single  will,  and  capable 
of  heights  of  heroism  and  depths  of  villainy  to  which  few  of 
its  members,  acting  alone,  could  rise  or  fall.  The  demagogue 
and  the  electioneering  agent  base  their  tactics  on  the 
psychology  of  the  crowd,  as  does  the  newspaper  man  who 
can  make  a  million  readers  follow  his  political  gyrations 
without  the  least  awareness  of  inconsistency.  The  fellow- 
feeling  that  makes  these  things  possible  is  the  foundation 
of  all  esprit  de  corps,  whether  in  a  nation,  an  army,  or  a 
school. 

The  spread  of  feeling  starts,  like  all  imitation,  from  the 
prestige  of  outstanding  individuals,  generally  persons  of 
simple  and  strong  emotions,  like  Garibaldi  or  the  late  Lord 
Kitchener.  These  "  leaders  of  the  crowd  "  crop  up  wherever 
two  or  three  are  gathered  together,  and  are  to  be  found  in 
every  school  and  class.  Every  teacher  must  meet  them, 
either  as  friends  or  as  foes.  Where  the  conditions  of  work 
and  government  are  healthy,  the  natural  leaders  of  the  group 
will  generally  be  friends  of  the  constitution,  and  are  in  that 
case  its  most  useful  upholders.  But  conditions  are  not  always 
healthy;  and  even  where  they  are,  malignancy  may  lurk, 
an  inheritance  from  less  happy  days.  In  such  a  case  the 
teacher  should  deem  it  an  important  matter  to  discern  who 
are  the  natural  leaders — for  they  are  not  always  visible  to 
the  eye — and,  if  possible,  to  capture  their  loyalty  and  interest. 
Where  they  are  obstinately  intractable  there  is  only  one  safe 
policy  left.  He  must  suppress  the  enemies  of  peace,  vi  el 
armis.    But  let  him  be  sure  of  his  ground  before  he  strikes, 


IMITATION  125 

and  above  all,  remember  that  the  weakest  thing  to  do  is  to 
attack  an  insignificant  follower  and  let  the  real  leader  of 
revolt  go  unscathed. 

It  is  an  obvious  corollary  that  no  school  group  can  be  in  a 
healthy  moral  condition  where  there  is  lack  of  community  of 
feeling  between  teacher  and  pupils.  To  secure  it  the  teacher 
must  preserve  within  his  adult  being  a  genuine  sympathy  with 
the  tastes  and  enthusiasms  of  youth.  It  is  not  enough  to 
affect  such  a  sympathy;  for  no  weakness  is  more  unerringly 
detected  than  insincerity  in  feeling,  and  nothing  leads  so 
surely  to  distrust  and  aversion.  The  person,  however 
much  devoted  to  the  work  of  education,  who  finds 
that  nature  has  withheld  from  him  this  gift  of  perpetual 
youth,  should  transfer  his  labour  to  another  corner  of  the 
vineyard. 

Feeling-spread  is  almost  wholly  biological  imitation. 
Some  actors,  it  is  true,  aver  that  by  throwing  themselves  into  a 
part  they  can  deliberately  create  within  themselves  the  emo- 
tions they  outwardly  portray ;  and  it  is  certainly  often  possible, 
in  moments  of  agitation,  to  acquire  something  of  the  coolness 
of  another  by  imitating  his  calm  demeanour.1  But  these 
facts  merely  mean  that  biological  imitation  of  a  feeling  is 
facilitated  by  action  congruent,  and  hindered  by  action  incon- 
gruent  with  it.  Speaking  generally,  we  catch  from  others, 
without  reflection,  their  gaiety,  their  enthusiasm,  their  terror, 
or  their  depression.  In  thought,  however,  as  in  physical  move- 
ment, both  types  of  imitation  are  common.  Any  attempt  to 
understand  a  statement  or  an  argument,  as  in  following  an 
historical  description  or  in  learning  a  proposition  in  geometry, 
may  be  regarded  as  a  case  of  reflective  imitation ;  for  the  essence 

*  According  to  the  celebrated  "  James-Lange  theory,"  an  emotion  is 
onlythe  "  backwash"  from  external  and  internal  movements;  "wefeelsorry 
because  we  cry,  angry  because  we  strike,  afraid  because  we  tremble.  ' 
If  the  theory  were  true,  reflective  imitation  of  feeling  would  be  comparatively 
common  and  easy.  Most  psychologists,  however,  regard  James's  view  as 
greatly  exaggerated. 


126    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

of  the  process  is  that  one  seeks  deliberately  to  see  through  the 
eyes  or  think  the  thoughts  of  another.  The  imitation  is 
biological,  when  the  adoption  of  another's  ideas  is  unwilled; 
and  this  is  generally  called  suggestion.  Suggestion  was  first 
studied  by  the  hypnotists;  for  one  of  the  chief  marks  of  the 
hypnotic  state  is  that  the  subject  accepts  readily  almost  any 
idea  that  is  offered  to  him.  It  was  afterwards  found  to  be  a 
common  factor  of  normal  life,  and  has  been  made  the  subject 
of  numerous  experimental  investigations.  The  following 
experiment  is  typical  of  the  work  initiated  in  this  department 
by  Binet. 

The  present  writer  recently  interviewed,  one  by  one,  a 
number  of  boys  and  girls  of  ten,  and,  in  the  course  of  a  friendly 
conversation,  showed  each  one  a  postcard-photograph  of  a 
yacht  sailing  alone  on  Lake  Geneva.  After  a  child  had 
examined  the  card  for  thirty  seconds,  a  number  of  question.-; 
about  it  were  addressed  to  him,  among  them  the  question: 
"  Was  the  steamer  going  in  the  same  direction  as  the  yacht 
or  in  the  opposite  direction  V  Only  one  or  two  children  out 
of  about  twenty  wholly  rejected  the  suggestion  contained  in 
these  words,  and  declared  bluntly  that  they  had  seen 
no  steamer;  some  showed  signs  of  disturbance,  as  if 
ashamed  at  their  carelessness  in  perception  or  their  lack  of 
memory;  some  gave  a  hesitating  answer;  but  quite  a 
number  specified  with  apparent  confidence  the  direction 
in  which  the  supposititious  steamer  was  moving. 

Whatever  the  full  interpretation  of  such  phenomena  maybe, 
they  throw  an  interesting  light  on  the  suggestibility  of  children 
when  questioned  by  an  adult,  especially  by  one  whom  they 
do  not  know  or  to  whom  they  are  in  the  habit  of  deferring. 
They  have  an  obvious  bearing  on  the  practice  of  class-question- 
ing, and  on  the  value  of  evidence  extracted  from  children 
either  in  connection  with  school  crimes  or  in  a  court  of  law.1 

1  There  is  now  a  considerable  literature  dealing  from  the  legal  stand 
point  with  the  suggestibility  of  children  and  adults. 


IMITATION  127 

It  is  more  important  to  notice  the  influence  of  suggestion  in 
causing  the  spread  and  maintaining  the  vitality  of  public 
rumours-  To  illustrate  that  influence  we  need  only  recall  the 
instance — which  must  for  ever  be  classical — of  the  mythical 
80,000  Kussian  troops  to  whose  presence  in  Great  Britain 
during  the  autumn  of  1914  thousands  of  honest  people 
gave  convincing  testimony.  No  case  could  bring  out 
more  clearly  the  intimacy  of  connection  between  suggestion 
and  feeling;  the  wish  was  indubitably  the  father  of  the 
thought. 

Candid  consideration  of  the  facts  will  show  that,  apart 
from  such  abnormalities  as  rumour,  suggestion  plays  an  im- 
mense part  in  the  intellectual  life  of  us  all.  By  what  other 
agency  could  we  account,  for  example,  for  the  geographical 
distribution  of  religious  beliefs  and  distinctive  political  faiths  ? 
The  fact  that  convictions  upon  such  matters  have  frontier- 
lines  almost  as  clear  as  those  of  States  does  not  prove  that 
"  reason  "  plays  no  part  in  their  maintenance.  But  it  does 
prove  that,  with  regard  to  the  things  that  have  most  power 
at  once  to  divide  men  and  to  unite  them,  the  function  of  reason 
as  we  find  it  actually  at  work  is  not  so  much  to  discover  truth, 
as  to  clarify,  confirm  and  explore  some  faith  of  our  fathers 
which  we  have  received  by  suggestion.  The  great  Burke, 
who  "  chose  his  side  like  a  fanatic  and  defended  it  like  a 
philosopher,"  only  followed  in  a  grand  manner  the  common 
habit  of  mankind. 

It  would  be  a  profound  error,  then,  to  look  upon  suggesti- 
bility as  nothing  but  a  deplorable  weakness  in  human  nature. 
Like  the  routine-tendency  and  the  play-tendency,  it  is  a 
biological  device  of  the  greatest  utility  in  both  individual 
and  social  life.  Without  question,  man's  ultimate  aim 
should  be  to  order  all  his  affairs,  from  the  lowest  to 
the  highest,  in  the  cold,  clear  light  of  reason.  But  life 
cannot  be  suspended  until  that  ideal  has  been  realized; 
and  by  suggestion  the  people  obtain  meanwhile  at  least 


128    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

the  partial  vision  without  which  in  literal  truth  they  would 
perish. 

These  considerations  will  help  a  teacher  to  decide  one  of 
the  thorniest  questions  of  professional  ethics — namely,  the  use 
he  should  make  of  suggestion.  Let  him  note,  in  the  first  place, 
that  he  can  no  more  prevent  himself  from  acting  on  his  pupils 
by  suggestion  than  he  can  make  himself  invisible  as  he  per- 
ambulates the  classroom.  In  the  second  place,  let  him  remem- 
ber that  suggestion  is  not  by  nature  a  foe  to  spontaneity, 
but  a  necessary  instrument  in  the  process  by  which  a  man 
becomes  truly  the  captain  of  his  own  soul.  From  the  former 
truth  it  follows  that  the  teacher  is  as  much  entitled  to  in- 
fluence his  pupils  by  suggestion  as  they  are  to  influence  one 
another,  provided  he  does  not  deliberately  impose  such  in- 
fluence upon  them,  but  simply  puts  his  superior  knowledge 
and  experience  of  life  into  the  common  stock  from  which  the 
growing  minds  of  his  little  community  may  draw  each  what  it 
needs.  From  the  second  truth  we  deduce  that  the  teacher's 
suggestive  power,  so  far  as  it  can  be  controlled,  should  aim 
at  building  up  gradually  the  critical  truth-seeking  habit, 
without  which  man,  though  born  to  be  free,  would  remain 
everywhere  in  chains.  With  this  end  in  view  the  teacher  is 
not  only  entitled  but  bound  to  use  suggestion,  either  directly 
in  his  personal  teaching,  or  indirectly  through  the  medium 
of  well-chosen  books,  as  the  best  means  of  revealing  the  ideals 
of  reason. 

Do  these  principles  suffice  to  determine  the  teacher's 
proper  attitude  towards  debatable  questions  of  faith,  morals 
and  politics  ?  We  reply  that  they  not  only  permit  but  require 
him  to  see  that  no  child  shall  lose,  through  lack  of  opportunity, 
the  inspiration  of  ideals  sanctioned  by  the  best  and  widest 
experience  of  mankind.  They  indicate,  further,  that  with  boys 
and  girls  who  have  reached  the  storm  and  stress  of  adolescence, 
free  discussion  of  these  matters,  whenever  they  naturally  arise, 
is  the  best  prophylactic  against  unhealthy  suggestion — the 


IMITATION  129 

suggestion  that  is  propagated  in  passion  and  prejudice,  and 
fructifies  where  ignorance  is  artificially  maintained  and  honest 
inquiry  is  stifled.  By  means  of  such  debates,  connected  in  a 
serious  spirit,  tolerantly,  and  so  that  each  view  is  fairly  pre- 
sented, young  minds  can  most  safely  discover  those  deepest 
impulses  of  their  nature  upon  whose  guidance  they  must 
ultimately  rely. 


NOTES  ON  BOOKS,  ETC. 

A  sound  and  broad  treatment  of  imitation  is  given  in  W.  Mitchell, 
"Structure  and  Growth  of  the  Mind"  (Macmillan,  1907).  For  biological 
imitation  see  C.  Lloyd  Morgan's  delightful  "Animal  Behaviour"  (Ed. 
Arnold,  2nd  ed.,  1915).  M.  W.  Keatinge's  valuable  book,  "Suggestion 
in  Education"  (Black,  1907),  includes  an  account  of  Binet's  experiments. 
G.  Le  Bon,  "The  Crowd"  (English  trans,  published  by  Fisher  Unwin), 
is  a  popular  treatise  which  must  be  read  with  caution,  more  scientific  and 
"Human  Nature  in  Politics"  (Constable,  1908),  is  a  Geaham  Wallas, 
highly  instructive  study  of  the  social  functions  of  imitation.  Recent  work 
on  the  topics  of  this  chapter  has  largely  followed  the  treatment  in  W. 
MoDougall,  "  Social  Psychology  "  (see  p.  139).  McDougall'  s  views  have 
been  lately  discussed  by  B.  Hart,  "The  Methods  of  Psychotherapy" 
(Proc.  of  Roy.  Soc.  of  Medicine,  vol.  xii.,  1918),  and  in  a  valuable  paper  by 
E.  Prideaux  on  "Suggestion  and  Suggestibility"  read  to  the  Medical 
Section  of  the  British  Psychological  Society  on  October  28th,  1919. 


CHAPTER  XI 

INSTINCT 

We  must  now  inquire  what  is  the  origin  of  the  activities  into 
which  the  child  is  born  and  which  he  is  destined  to  make  his 
own.  Is  the  rich  life  of  the  modern  world  merely  the  long 
result  of  imitation  modified  by  the  free  creative  efforts  of 
each  generation  ?  Or  are  there,  apart  from  imitation,  forces 
in  human  nature  which  determine  fixed  lines  along  which 
our  activities  must  flow  and  which  even  free  creation  must 
follow  ? 

There  are  facts  which  indicate  that  the  second  of  these 
questions,  rather  than  the  first,  suggests  the  true  state  of  the 
case.  We  have  spoken  of  them  already  as  facts  of  racial 
mneme  (p.  38),  and  have  quoted  maternal  care  as  an  example 
of  them.  A  mother  in  nurturing  her  child  follows  the  habits 
of  her  people  and  her  time,  and  those  habits  vary  greatly  from 
race  to  race,  from  class  to  class,  from  age  to  age ;  but  no  one 
could  think  that  imitation  of  other  women  is  the  complete 
key  to  her  behaviour.  The  reader  will  readily  find  other 
instances  of  the  same  sort,  where  the  agent  obeys  an  inner 
imperative  with  which  imitation  has  nothing  to  do,  except 
that  it  supplies  the  garments  with  which  the  activity  is  clothed. 
Is  it,  then,  possible  that  what  is  undeniably  true  of  some  is 
true  of  all  our  activities,  and  that  their  bewildering  variety 
is  but  the  ever-changing  disguise  assumed  by  impulses  whose 
aims  are,  at  bottom,  everywhere  the  same  ?  If  so,  it  is 
clearly  important  for  education  to  know  what  these  persistent 
types  of  self-assertion  are;  for  unless  we  know  them  we  cannot 

180 


INSTINCT  131 

give  intelligent  assistance  to  Nature,  and  may  often  be  found 
fighting  against  her. 

At  this  point,  if  anywhere,  it  should  be  profitable  to  seek 
help  from  the  "  biological  view "  of  human  life.  Adult 
activities  are  so  complicated  that  they  may  easily  defy  direct 
analysis,  and  the  behaviour  of  children  is  soon  so  much  in- 
fluenced by  imitation  of  their  elders  that  deductions  based  on 
it  may  be  misleading.  But  the  higher  animals,  such  as  the 
dog  and  the  ape,  lead  lives  that  are  in  many  respects  simpli- 
fied models  of  our  own,  and  there  is  no  doubt  that  a  large  part 
of  their  behaviour  can  be  analyzed  into  a  moderate  number 
of  modes  of  self-assertion,  persistent  not  merely  during  the  life 
of  the  single  animal,  but  through  countless  generations.  We 
are  familiar  with  them  under  the  name  "  instincts."  It 
is  at  least  reasonable,  therefore,  to  inquire  whether  we  have 
not  carried  those  modes  of  behaviour,  or  some  of  them, 
upward  with  us  in  the  course  of  our  evolution,  and  whether 
they  are  not  still  the  basis  of  our  complex  existence. 

In  following  up  this  idea  we  must  not  be  misled  by  the 
associations  of  the  term  "  instinct."  Most  people  in  thinking 
of  instinct  have  in  view  the  often  marvellous  ways  in  which 
animals  perform  complicated  acts  they  have  never  learnt  for 
the  attainment  of  ends  they  are  incapable  of  foreseeing  or 
understanding.  Creatures,  such  as  insects,  whose  lives  are 
ruled  by  instincts  of  this  kind,  are  wonderfully  well  equipped 
to  meet  the  normal  problems  of  their  lives,  but  display  what 
the  great  observer  Fabre  has  called  "  abysmal  stupidity  " 
when  faced  with  any  emergency  for  which  the  routine  of  the 
instinct  does  not  provide.  That  is  why  instinctive  behaviour 
is  commonly  regarded  as  "  mechanical,"  "  blind,"  and  the 
extreme  opposite  to  "intelligent"  behaviour;  animals, 
it  is  said,  are  guided  by  instinct,  man  by  reason.  Now  a 
thorough-going  misogynist  could  make  out  a  case  for  applying 
the  adjectives  "mechanical,"  "blind,"  "unintelligent," 
even  to  human  mother-instinct,  though  all  healthy-minded 


132    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

people  would  see  that  such  a  description  would  grossly  mis- 
represent the  facts  as  a  whole.  But  to  take  up  the  misogynist's 
challenge  on  this  side  would  be  to  wander  from  the  point. 
The  real  question  is  whether  the  behaviour  of  the  human 
mother  is  historically  continuous  with  animal  mother- 
behaviour  ;  whether  the  two  are,  as  a  biologist  might  say,  not 
only  "  analogous  "  but  also  "  homologous  " — that  is,  alike 
in  origin  as  well  as  in  function.  To  that  question  there  is  only 
one  reasonable  answer.  The  basis  of  mother-behaviour  in 
women  is,  without  doubt,  a  racial  engram-complex  which  has 
been  handed  down  the  human  line  from  our  pre-human 
ancestors.  The  complex  has,  of  course,  undergone  many 
modifications  on  the  way,  but  there  is  at  least  an  important 
core  of  identity  between  its  present  state  in  human  endow- 
ment and  its  state  when  we  were  on  the  same  biological  level 
as  the  higher  animals  and  behaved  as  they  do. 

What  is  that  core  of  identity,  and  what  is  the  general  nature 
of  the  modifications  it  has  undergone  ?  To  the  first  question 
we  reply  that  the  central  factor  in  mother-behaviour,  whether 
in  women  or  in  the  higher  animals,  is  the  "  tender  emotion  " 
which  is  evoked  by  the  presence  of  the  helpless  young  and 
issues  in  acts  of  protection  and  devotion.  It  follows  that  in 
rising  from  the  pre-human  to  the  human  level,  we  must  have 
retained  in  our  endowment  the  mnemic  basis  of  this  emotion, 
with  its  tendency  to  be  awakened  by  objects  of  this  kind  and 
to  flow  out  in  actions  of  this  character.  The  answer  to  the 
second  question  is  that  the  mnemic  basis  has  in  its  evolution 
lost  certain  elements  which,  upon  the  animal  level,  restricted 
the  field  of  mother-behaviour  and  confined  it  to  a  relatively 
fixed  routine.  We  must  beware  here  of  injustice  to  our 
humbler  sisters.  The  not  uncommon  occurrence  of  "  happy 
families  "  shows  that  the  tenderness  of  an  animal  mother  is 
not  necessarily  limited  to  the  fruit  of  her  own  womb ;  and  there 
are  credible  stories  that  prove  that  her  protective  actions 
may  sometimes  travel  far  beyond  the  bounds  of   a  fixed 


INSTINCT  133 

routine.  It  is  plain,  however,  that  parental  impulses  in  man- 
kind are  capable  of  developments  enormously  wider  and 
richer  than  animals  can  ever  reach.  "  Tender  emotion  "  in 
women  or  in  men — for  women  have  no  monopoly  of  the 
gift — may  be  awakened  by  the  helplessness  of  children — for 
example,  little  factory  drudges — whom  they  have  never  seen, 
and  may  issue  in  results  so  far  from  nature  as  Acts  of  Parlia- 
ment and  State  administration.  The  important  point  is  that 
such  developments,  however  remote,  are,  to  repeat  the  phrase, 
historically  continuous  with  primitive  parental  behaviour, 
and  are  intelligible  only  if  we  keep  in  view  the  tender  emotion 
which  runs  like  a  clue  through  the  whole  series  of  phenomena, 
pre-human  and  human,  individual  and  social,  which  connects 
them  with  their  origin. 

Thus  we  reach  the  notion  of  instinct  which  has  been  so 
brilliantly  developed  and  illustrated  by  Professor  W. 
McDougall  in  his  "  Social  Psychology."  As  he  has  said  in  a 
later  work,1  an  instinct  is,  in  his  view,  an  innate  conjunction 
between  an  affective  disposition  and  one  or  more  cognitive 
^dispositions.  By  an  affective  disposition  he  means  what  we; 
should  call  a  complex  whose  stimulation  gives  rise  to  a  state 
of  feeling  issuing  in  acts  directed  towards  some  definite  end ; 
by  a  cognitive  disposition,  a  complex  whose  activity  is  shown 
in  the  agent's  awareness  of,  and  attention  to,  a  particular 
kind  of  object  or  event;  by  innate  conjunction,  the  fact  that 
those  complexes  are  parts  of  a  functional  whole  in  the  agent's 
endowment.  In  some  instincts  the  feeling  aroused  by  the 
object  or  situation  is  a  well-defined  emotion,  such  as  anger  or 
fear;  in  others  it  has  less  individual  distinctness;  but  in  all 
cases  it  is  the  mainspring  of  the  agent's  behaviour.  Instinc- 
tive behaviour  conforms  to  this  scheme  in  men  and  animals 
alike;  but  there  is  the  great  difference  that  in  animals  it  is 
relatively  fixed  and  stable  in  form  throughout  the  agent's 

1   "instinct  and   Emotion,"  Proceedings   of  the   AtistoLclian   Society, 
'OH-lo.p.  25. 


134    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

life,  while  in  men  it  is  capable  of  endless  variety  and  progress 
on  both  the  cognitive  and  the  affective  sides.  It  is  in  this 
variety  and  this  progressive  development  that  the  phenomena 
of  intelligence  or  reason  make  their  appearance.  That  is  to 
say,  intelligent  behaviour  is  not  a  specific  variety  to  be 
distinguished  from  instinctive,  but  is  instinctive  behaviour 
itself  in  its  higher  levels;  no  longer  "  mechanical  "  or  fixed 
in  form,  but  indefinitely  plastic;  no  longer  "  blind  "  but 
illuminated  with  purpose.1 

These  points  are  easily  illustrated.  Pugnacity  is  an 
example  of  the  instincts  in  which  the  feeling-element  is  a 
definite  emotion — here  the  emotion  of  anger.  Speaking 
generally,  anger  is  awakened  by  something  that  threatens  to 
obstruct  the  agent's  self-assertion,  and  issues  in  acts  tending 
to  break  down  that  obstruction.  In  an  animal  the  occasions 
of  anger  are  easily  foreseen,  for  the  impulses  to  self-assertion 
are  limited  in  variety;  and  the  acts  to  which  the  emotion 
gives  rise  are  of  a  relatively  fixed  and  predictable  character. 
It  is  pretty  certain,  for  instance,  that  a  hungry  dog  will  be 
angered  if  another  one  tries  to  capture  his  bone  and  that  his 
anger  will  issue  in  furious  biting.  A  very  young  child  will 
behave  in  an  almost  equally  predictable  way  if  an  imprudent 
nurse  snatches  a  treasure  from  his  hands.    But  the  occasions 

1  In  a  recent  most  interesting  article  on  "Why  is  the  'Unconscious' 
Unconscious"  (Brit.  Journ.  of  Psych.,  vol.  ix.,  pt.  2),  Dr.  W.  H.  R.  Rivera 
tends  to  rehabilitate  the  old  distinction  between  instinct  and  intelligence.  He 
connects  them  respectively  with  the  nervous  mechanisms  involved  in  what 
Dr.  Head  calls  "  protopathic  "  and  "epicritic"  sensibility — of  which  the 
former  has,  no  doubt,  much  the  greater  biological  antiquity.  Since,  how- 
ever, Rivers  does  not  claim  that  the  "  instinctive  "  mechanisms  are  function- 
less  in  normal  human  life,  but  expressly  maintains  that  the  "intelligent" 
systems  have  taken  up  into  themselves  whatever  in  the  older  systems  is 
useful — whatever  is  useless  or  harmful  being  relegated  to  the  "  unconscious  " 
— his  view  does  not  seem,  after  all,  to  be  necessarily  in  conflict  with 
McDougall's.  For  the  "  useful"  parts  which  are  retained  from  the  instinctive 
systems  may  still  give  to  the  several  intelligent  systems  their  special  char- 
acters, and  so  preserve  substantial  continuity  between  the  primitive  and 
the  modern  forms  of  behaviour.  And,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  the  parts  re- 
tained include  the  nervous  structures  that  are  most  active  in  emotional 
experience. 


INSTINCT  135 

of  the  dog's  anger  and  the  acts  to  which  it  leads  will  remain 
much  the  same  throughout  his  life.  You  would  not  expect 
the  most  intelligent  dog  to  be  angered  by  an  epigram  or  to 
organize  a  canine  conspiracy  for  his  foe's  downfall.  The 
child,  on  the  other  hand,  will  grow  into  a  man  whose  wrath 
may  blaze  out  at  a  tale  of  ancient  wrong,  or  be  deeply  stirred 
by  an  imputation  upon  the  originality  of  his  poems,  and  may 
be  expressed  through  twenty  years  of  political  agitation  or 
by  a  scandalous  portrait  of  his  critic  in  his  next  novel. 

In  contrast  with  pugnacity,  we  may  take  the  collecting 
instinct  as  one  in  which  the  feeling-element  lacks  the  dis- 
tinctness of  an  emotion.  This  instinct  is  notoriously  shared 
by  squirrels  (for  instance)  and  schoolboys.  Nature  bids 
the  squirrel  collect  nuts,  and  prescribes  a  regular  routine  to  be 
followed  in  gathering  and  hiding  them.  She  lays  a  similar 
imperative  upon  the  schoolboy,  but  leaves  his  impulses  open 
to  the  seductions  of  postage-stamps,  cigarette-cards,  or 
regimental  badges,  or  free  to  follow  any  other  fashion  of  the 
moment.  The  instinct  thus  fed  in  youth  may  develop  along 
the  same  lines  and  appear  in  the  grown  man  as  a  passion  for 
collecting  engravings,  first  editions  or  historic  relics;  or  it 
may  deviate  from  its  original  direction  and  make  him  a  miser, 
a  "  grangeriser  "  or  a  collector  of  anecdotes  about  royalty. 
The  acts  by  which  the  collecting  impulse  seeks  satisfaction 
show  a  correspondingly  wide  range.  The  small  boy  wheedles 
his  treasures  out  of  his  father's  friends ;  the  rich  connoisseur 
has  his  agents  in  every  European  capital. 

McDougall's  concept  of  instinct  has  not  escaped  criticism. 
For  instance,  Mr.  A.  F.  Shand  contends  that  fear  in  animals 
is  not  linked  with  a  single  conative  disposition,  but  may, 
according  to  circumstances,  issue  in  flight,  in  concealment, 
in  "  shamming  dead,"  or  in  other  distinctive  ways.  He 
maintains,  therefore,  that  there  is  no  one  instinct  with  fear  as 
its  central  element,  but  a  group  of  separate  instincts  organized 
in  a  system  dominated  by  that  emotion.    To  this  criticism 


136    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

McDougall  replies  that  what  Shand  regards  as  a  group  of 
instincts  within  an  emotional  system  is  really  a  "  chain- 
instinct  " — that  is,  the  movements  of  flight,  concealment 
and  the  rest  are  successive  stages  in  the  unrolling  of  a 
single  affective  disposition. 

We  are  not  called  upon  to  take  sides  in  this  controversy 
between  two  psychologists  who  have  both  done  signal  service 
to  the  subject.  It  is  evident  that  Shand,  in  confining  the  term 
"  instinct "  to  a  definite  system  of  innately  organized  bodily 
movements,  is  influenced  by  the  orthodox  biological  tradition, 
and  that  McDougall,  on  the  other  hand,  is  anxious  to  preserve, 
perhaps  at  too  greet  a  cost,  the  architectural  simplicity  of 
his  scheme.  But  for  our  purpose  the  important  thing  is  their 
agreement  that  human  behaviour  follows  lines  of  organization 
which  make  it  historically,  or  biologically,  continuous  with 
animal  behaviour,  and,  in  particular,  that  in  man  the  emo- 
tional feelings  are  the  "  foundations  of  character." 

More  recently  Dr.  James  Drever,  while  endorsing  on  the 
whole  Dr.  McDougall's  views,  has  questioned  the  primacy 
of  the  emotions  in  instinct.  Normally,  he  holds,  the  feeling 
aroused  by  a  stimulus  that  appeals  to  an  instinct  is  an 
"  interest  "  or  feeling  of  "  worth-whileness,"  and  the  emotion 
comes  upon  the  scene  only  if  the  activity  which  is  the  natural 
outcome  of  the  interest  is  obstructed.  The  criticism  is  valu- 
able, and  accords  in  part  with  our  general  position.  There  is 
a  danger  lest  McDougall's  scheme,  too  rigidly  maintained, 
should  land  us  back  in  a  quasi-mechanistic  theory,  leading 
us  to  think  of  a  man's  self  as  built  up  of  instincts  much  as  a 
machine  is  built  up  of  wheels  or  a  wheel  of  molecules.  We 
must  insist  that  the  organism  comes  before  the  instincts,  and 
that  these  are  but  special  organs  of  self-assertion  that  have 
developed  during  its  racial  history.  They  are,  as  it  were, 
local  differentiations  of  the  general  life-activity,  which  have 
become  established  in  the  organism  in  virtue  of  their  biological 
utility,  both  as  means  of  self-  maintenance  and  as  instruments 


INSTINCT  137 

of  creative  expansion.  From  this  standpoint  we  may  look 
upon  the  emotions  as  local  differentiations  of  the  feeling  that 
colours  all  the  organism's  conative  dealings  with  its  world. 

Drever,  however,  makes  between  "  instinct-interest  "  and 
emotion  a  cleaner  distinction  than  this  view  warrants.  It  is 
true  that  in  solving  a  scientific  problem  or  in  repaying  a  good 
turn  I  am  not  swept  along  all  the  time  on  a  full  stream  of 
wonder  or  gratitude.  Nevertheless,  the  "  worth-whileness  " 
experienced  in  such  activities  does  seem  in  each  case  to  be 
coloured,  so  to  speak,  with  the  same  colour  as  the  emotion. 
In  short,  it  is  a  special  variety  of  the  general  feeling  of  self- 
activity  which  from  time  to  time  during  the  course  of  the 
activity  may  either  rise  to,  or  fall  from;  the  individual  distinct- 
ness of  the  emotion.  Much  the  same  account  may  be  given  of 
the  "  appetites,"  such  as  those  of  hunger  and  sex,  which  differ 
from  the  instincts  in  so  far  as  they  originate  in  states  of  the 
body,  and  make  use  of  external  objects  only  in  order  to  reach 
their  appointed  ends.  Hunger,  for  example,  may  rise  con- 
tinuously from  a  vague  readiness  for  a  meal  to  an  almost 
insupportable  craving. 

As  with  the  emotions,  so  with  cognition  and  action.  In 
instinct,  we  are  told,  the  perception  of  a  specific  kind  of  object 
leads,  through  the  awakening  of  a  specific  emotion,  to  a  specific 
form  of  active  behaviour.  But  the  instinctive  perception  of 
the  object  is  only  a  local  differentiation  or  intensification 
of  the  organism's  general  power  to  be  aware  of  its  en- 
vironment ;  and  the  specific  movements,  however  wonderfully 
organized,  are  only  a  local  differentiation  of  its  general  motile 
power.  The  instincts  doubtless  mark  out  the  lines  along  which 
both  cognitive  and  motile  power  have  mainly  advanced,  but 
the  organism,  in  its  creative  moments,  may  use  the  results  of 
that  advance  for  ends  beyond  the  purview  of  any  of  the  special 
instincts.  This  happens,  for  instance,  in  play,  where  the 
appetite  for  life,  the  lust  for  self-assertion  as  such,  may  employ 
the  whole  range  of  the  instincts  (p.  73).     It  happens  also  in 


138    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

the  "  disinterested  "  activities  of  science  and  art.  In  science 
man's  self-assertion  seeks  a  purely  intellectual  control  over 
nature  (p.  191),  and  will  not  rest  until  he  has  penetrated  her 
secrets  from  the  stellar  system  to  the  electron,  has  recovered 
the  vanished  beginnings  of  things,  and  can  foresee  "  what  the 
world  will  be  when  the  years  have  died  away."  So  in  the 
arts  and  crafts,  disinterested  self-assertion  through  movement 
aims  at  surrounding  life  with  the  "  significant  forms  "  of 
beauty.1 

In  short,  life  as  a  whole,  may,  with  little  extravagance, 
\  be  regarded  as  the  unrolling  of  an  instinct  in  which  the 
;  activities  of  the  special  instincts  are  only  characteristic 
I  moments.  For  it  is  a  continuous,  unified  process  of  self- 
assertion  in  which  a  disposition  to  action  is  linked,  through 
the  intermediacy  of  feeling,  to  a  disposition  to  cognize  the 
external  world.  Moreover,  the  general  life-feeling  has  a 
specially  close  connection  with  emotions  into  which,  from  time 
to  time,  it  is  intensified.  These  are  what  McDougall  speaks 
of  as  M  positive  self-feeling,"  the  feeling  of  exaltation  we 
experience  when  things  go  markedly  well  with  us  and  we 
are  "superior  to  the  situation,"  and  the  complementary 
"  negative  self-feeling,"  or  feeling  of  abasement,  that  comes 
when  self-assertion  is  baffled  or  inhibited. 

However  much  Dr.  McDougall's  scheme  must  be  qualified 
in  detail,  its  three  cardinal  tenets  can  hardly  be  disputed, 
(i.)  The  emotions  and  their  kindred  states  of  feeling  are  cer- 
tainly the  prime  movers  of  human  activity;  if  they  ceased  to 
act,  the  whole  fabric  of  individual  and  social  life  would  speedily 
decay,    (ii.)  They  are  without  doubt  connected  indissolubly 

1  Profossor  Graham  Wallas,  in  his  admirable  book  "The  Great  Society" 
(ch.  x.),  also  contends  that  we  have  impulses  to  know  that  transcend  the 
limits  of  McDougall's  instincts.  For  him  "  Thought  is  a  true  natural  dis- 
position"— i.e.,  an  instinct,  which  "may  be  independently  stimulated" 
and  not  "  a  merely  subordinate  mechanism  acting  only  in  obedience  to  the 
previous  stimulation  of  one  of  the  simpler  instincts."  This  view,  while  lead- 
ing to  much  the  same  results  as  ours,  differs  from  it  by  making  "  Thought " 
itself  an  instinct  side  by  side  with  those  which  McDougall  recognizes. 


INSTINCT  139 

with  specific  types  of  activity  of  essential  importance  in  the 
growth  of  the  individual  and  in  the  maintenance  of  society, 
(iii.)  The  forms  of  these  activities  are  capable,  in  man,  of 
indefinite  development  and  inter-relations  without  losing 
their  historical  identity.  The  bearing  of  these  truths  upon 
educational  practice  is  as  clear  as  it  is  important.  The  com- 
parative fruitlessness  of  so  much  educational  effort  is  mainly 
due  to  neglect  of  the  feelings  which  are  the  proximate  sources 
of  human  energy,  the  real  springs  of  educational  progress 
whether  in  learning  or  in  conduct  ^and  where  there  is  not  only 
neglect  but  repression,  the  harm  done  may,  as  we  have  seen 
(pp.  55-6),  reach  the  dimensions  of  a  disaster.  It  is,  then, 
plainly  necessary  that  we  should  study  with  some  care  the  role 
of  feeling  in  the  evolution  of  individuality. 

NOTES  ON  BOOKS,  ETO. 

W.  McDot/gall,  "An  Introduction  to  Social  Psychology"  (Methuen, 
9th  ed.,  1915),  is  the  fountain-head  of  most  of  the  applications  of  the  idea 
of  iastinct  in  education,  sociology,  etc.,  and  may  justly  be  called  a  classic. 
Important  discussions  by  leading  psychologists,  biologists  and  philosophers, 
largely  centring  round  McDougall's  definition,  are  in  the  British  Journal 
of  Psychology,  vols.  iii.  (1910)  and  x.  (1919)  and  in  the  Proceedings  of  the 
Aristotelian  Society  for  1914-15.  C.  Lloyd  Morgan,  "Instinct  and 
Experience"  (Methuen,  1912),  by  one  of  the  first  biological  authorities  on 
instinct,  is  a  delightful  treatise  on  the  main  points  raised  in  the  earliest  of 
these  discussions.  James  Drever,  "The  Instinct  in  Man"  (Cambridge 
University  Press,  1917),  is  a  valuable  review  of  the  subject,  in  the  main 
confirmatory  of  McDougall's  views.  A  very  able  exposition  of  a  different 
point  of  view,  substantially  that  of  William  James,  is  given  in  E.  L.  Thorn- 
dike,  "Educational  Psychology,"  vol.  i.  (Columbia  University,  1913). 

1  Dr.  Kea tinge  ("Studies  in  Education,"  ch.  iv.)  claims  a  high  place 
for  aesthetic  subjects,  on  the  ground  that  they  give  scope  to  the  emotions. 
We  object  only  to  the  implication  that  3uch  scope  need  not  be  provided  else- 
where. On  the  contrary,  a  chief  defect  in  current  teaching  in  such  subjects 
as  mathematics  and  science  is  precisely  its  lack  of  appeal  to  the  proper  kinds 
of  feeling.  See  the  chapter  on  Science  in  Adams  "The  New  Teaching" 
(Hodder  and  Stoughton,  1918). 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE   GROWTH   OF   THE   SELF 

Jack,  aged  seven,  visiting  for  the  first  time  a  large  town,  is 
taken  for  a  ride  in  an  electric  tram-car.  He  is  immensely 
intrigued  by  the  wonderful  doings  of  the  conductor  and  the 
driver,  and  his  pertinent  but  unhappily-timed  questions 
cause  his  mother  no  little  embarrassment.  The  journey 
over  and  tea  disposed  of,  he  begins  at  once  to  live  again  through 
the  afternoon's  experiences.  The  drawing-room  becomes  a 
tram-car,  his  mother  and  complaisant  aunts  the  passengers. 
He,  of  course,  is  conductor,  but,  in  the  absence  of  a  play-mate, 
doubles  his  part  and  also  serves  the  motor.  Armed  with  a 
bag  for  pouch  and  a  table-gong  for  bell-punch,  he  collects 
fares,  issues  carefully  perforated  tickets,  stops  and  restarts 
the  car,  and  occasionally,  in  his  secondary  capacity,  rushes 
to  the  brake  and  sounds  the  alarm  to  trespassers  on  the  rails. 
In  the  full  tide  of  his  importance  he  is  carried  away,  indignant 
and  protesting,  to  bath  and  bed. 

For  two  or  three  days,  perhaps,  Jack  is,  in  the  main,  a 
tram-man.  Then  there  flashes  upon  his  vision  the  glory  of 
being  a  horse-guard,  protecting  in  shining  armour  the  entrance 
to  the  Park;  or  a  milkman  going  his  rounds  with  churns  and 
barrow;  or  a  clergyman  conducting  a  christening;  and  the  one 
time  tram-man  becomes  a  guardsman,  a  milkman,  a  clergy- 
man, and  so  on  indefinitely. 

Let  us  consider  this  familiar  tale  in  the  light  of  the  preceding 
chapter.  The  first  thing  to  note  is  that  it  begins  with  an 
appeal  to  a  definite  instinct — the  instinct  of  curiosity.    But 

140 


THE  GROWTH  OF  THE  SELF  141 

the  tram-man,  the  guardsman  and  the  rest  do  not  come 
before  Jack  merely  as  trivial  novelties  attracting  a  moment's 
attention.  They  have  an  impressive  quality  which,  though 
not  so  overmastering  as  to  reduce  him  to  impotence  and 
evoke  fear,  or  the  high  degree  of  negative  self-feeling  we  have 
called  "  abasement,"  is  yet  pronounced  enough  to  challenge 
a  readjustment  of  his  being  to  something  that  cannot  be 
dismissed  or  ignored.  The  play  that  follows  is  his  reply  to 
the  challenge.  It  is  the  positive  phase  of  behaviour  which 
follows  and  completes  the  preceding  negative  phase,  and  is 
supported  by  positive  self-feeling  that  may  rise,  at  moments 
of  outstanding  achievement,  to  the  level  of  "  exaltation." 

We  must  next  observe  that  as  long  as  Jack's  self-feeling 
is  set,  say,  towards  tram-conducting,  all  the  other  instinctive 
and  emotional  tendencies,  so  far  as  they  are  relevant,  take 
their  cue  from  it.  "  Acquisitiveness  "  specializes,  for  the 
time,  in  tram-tickets;  "experimentation"  (" constructive- 
ness  ")  serves  only  the  business  of  the  hour;  anger  rises 
promptly  to  answer  interference  with  that  business,  but  lets 
other  occasions  go ;  grief  clings  to  failure  in  it,  or  fixes  its  gaze 
on  lost  opportunities;  desire  urges,  and  hope  looks  forward 
to  its  renewal. 

This  kind  of  play  might  be  described  as  experimental  self- 
building  ;  for  it  differs  from  the  serious  business  of  self -building 
only  in  the  relative  instability  of  its  results.  During  the  age 
of  making-believe,  self-assertion,  like  a  wandering  compass- 
needle,  points,  now  this  way  now  that,  attended  in  its  veerings 
by  the  positive  and  negative  self-feelings,  and  carrying  with 
it  the  other  emotional  tendencies,  all  of  which,  for  the  time 
being,  make  its  objects  their  own.  In  a  dozen  years,  Jack, 
who  at  seven  was  everything  by  turns  and  nothing  long,  will 
have  entered,  say,  upon  his  promising  career  as  an  electrical 
engineer.  He  has  long  been  indifferent  to  the  seductions  of 
tram-conducting  or  the  milk-trade,  and  is  content  to  let  others 
make  their  fame,  unchallenged,  in  the  Army  or  the  Church. 


142    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

Hi8  self-assertion  has  taken  up  permanently  the  direction 
of  electrical  engineering,  and  is  not  to  be  diverted  from  it 
except  in  holiday  moments.  But  beyond  the  fact  that  it  is 
committed  to  a  specific  line  of  growth,  there  is,  in  principle, 
no  difference  between  Jack's  self  at  twenty  and  his  experi- 
mental selves  at  seven.  The  cardinal  feature  still  remains — 
namely,  that  the  energy  of  his  instinctive  or  emotional  life 
flows,  for  the  greater  part,  along  the  direction  given  to  it  by 
the  "  set "  of  his  self-assertion.  The  impulses  rooted  in 
curiosity  and  the  "  experimenting  "  tendency  serve  mainly 
this  dominant  interest,  and  become  organized  into  scientific 
knowledge  and  technical  skill ;  while  those  that  belong  to  the 
self -feelings,  to  anger  and  to  the  other  primary  and  secondary 
emotions,  conspire  with  them  to  feed  the  main  current  of 
Jack's  development.  Ere  long  the  youth's  very  bearing  and 
dress  will,  to  an  experienced  eye,  betray  the  electrical 
engineer,  and  he  will  with  difficulty  conceal  his  profession 
during  an  hour's  conversation  with  a  stranger. 

It  is  now  clear  that  the  growth  of  the  self  may  be  described 
as  a  process  in  which  the  impulses  that  have  their  roots  in 
instinct  and  appetite  become  organized  into  a  permanent 
hormic  system  (p.  30),  wielding  imperial  authority  within  the 
organism;  or  as  the  building  up  of  a  great  engram-complex 
around  the  emotions  and  appetites,  and  the  dispositions  to 
knowledge  and  action  which  belong  to  them  and  derive  their 
energy  from  them.  Like  all  complexes,  the  self-complex 
must  be  thought  of  not  statically  but  dynamically  (pp.  47-8). 
It  is  the  relatively  permanent  basis  of  the  agent's  individuality 
as  this  is  expressed  in  a  unified  system  of  thought,  feeling  and 
action ;  but  it  is  constantly  modified  by  the  results  of  its  own 
activity  (p.  44),  and  constantly  becomes,  by  consolidation 
(p.  46),  a  more  coherent,  definitely  shaped  structure,  sub- 
serving a  higher  degree  of  expressiveness  (p.  31). 

It  is  this  great  complex  whose  growth  and  activities  are 
brought  out  by  the  insight  of  a  good  biographer  or  pictured 


THE  GROWTH  OF  THE  SELF  143 

by  the  imagination  of  a  great  novelist.  We  cannot  attempt 
to  unravel  all  its  complexities,  but,  adopting  the  masterly 
analysis  of  Mr.  A.  F.  Shand,  we  may  profitably  note  that  it 
is  largely  built  up  of  certain  massive  sub-complexes  of  a 
typical  character  whose  activities  are  sentiments.  The  reader 
will  understand  the  technical  meaning  Shand  gives  to  this 
word  if  he  will  reconsider  Jack  the  tram-man,  and  recall  how, 
for  a  while,  all  the  passions  of  his  being  were  gathered  up  into 
the  pursuit  of  a  single  object.  If  that  state  had  proved 
permanent  instead  of  transient,  we  might  have  said  that  a 
"  sentiment  "  for  tram-conducting  had  become  established  as 
a  constituent  of  Jack's  self.  In  short,  a  sentiment  is  not  a 
single  state  of  feeling,  but  a  system  of  feelings — that  is,  of 
emotions,  appetites  and  desires — organized  with  reference  to 
a  particular  object,  and  having  a  considerable  degree  of 
stability. 

The  pleasant  vice  of  puffing  tobacco-smoke  affords  a 
simple  instance  of  a  sentiment.  The  basis  of  smoking  is  a 
group  of  bodily  appetites  which  only  psycho-analysis,  perhaps, 
could  trace  to  their  origins;  but  round  these  low-grade 
impulses  there  may  grow  up  an  emotional  structure  capable 
of  raising  a  sensual  habit  to  the  dignity  of  a  social  function — 
even  of  a  ritual  in  which  womanhood  savours  its  hardly  won 
freedom  1  L'homme  moyen  sensuel  looks  forward  eagerly  to 
his  smoke,  curses  the  lack  of  tobacco  or  matches  which  robs 
him  of  it,  seeks  to  prolong  the  pleasures  of  fruition,  takes 
pride  in  his  expert  judgment  of  brands  and  pipes,  and  at  times 
"  knows  love's  sad  satiety,"  followed  in  due  course  by  a 
blissful  return  of  appetite.  All  these  things  are  marks  of 
a  genuine  sentiment.  Mutato  nomine,  they  may  also  be  said 
of  the  normal  woman's  attitude  towards  dress — a  matter  on 
which  discerning  philosophers  have  written  with  the  gravity 
due  to  its  importance.  Here  again  is  a  sentiment  which, 
arising  from  a  humble  need  of  the  body,  draws  into  its  empire 
a  wide  range  of  emotions,  and  gives  exercise  to  high  powers 


144    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

of  aesthetic  judgment  and  practical  skill.  It  may  sometimes 
serve  unworthy  ends,  but  only  a  dull  or  prejudiced  critic  could 
belittle  the  spiritual  heights  to  which  it  may  attain ;  a  generous 
observer  will  see  how  important  a  part  a  gifted  woman's 
dress-sentiment  may  play  in  developing  a  gracious  indi- 
viduality, and  will  thankfully  appreciate  the  value  it  adds 
to  social  life. 

These  two  sentiments  are  both  examples  of  love — the  love 
of  smoking  and  the  love  of  dress.  As  such  they  illustrate 
Shand's  weighty  point  that  a  love  is  not  a  single  emotion,  but 
a  system  embracing  a  manifold  of  feelings,  which  arise,  replace 
one  another,  disappear  and  return,  in  accordance  with  the 
varying  phases  of  the  agent's  relations  with  the  beloved  object. 
In  antithesis  with  the  loves  we  must  set  the  hates.  These, 
too,  are  sentiments,  and — though  the  fact  is  at  first  surprising 
— involve  no  emotional  element  that  may  not  also  appear  in 
the  loves.  To  hate  smoking,  for  instance,  is,  like  loving  it, 
to  feel  pleasure,  displeasure,  regret,  relief,  hope,  disappoint- 
ment, and  so  on;  the  feelings  are  the  same,  only  the  occasions 
are  different.  Love  delights  in  the  presence  of  its  object  and 
strives  after  fuller  and  richer  intercourse  with  it;  hate  finds 
it  an  offence,  and  seeks  to  destroy  it,  or  at  least  to  avoid  its 
presence. 

It  is  an  ancient  and  profound  truth  that  education  should 
teach  men  to  love  and  to  hate  the  right  things ;  but  the  aphor- 
ism must  not  lead  us  into  the  error  of  supposing  that  love 
and  hate  are  of  co-ordinate  value.  A  love,  since  it  urges  one  to 
explore  and  develop  the  riches  of  its  object,  is  a  principle  of 
growth,  of  expansion;  a  hate,  since  its  aim  is  to  destroy 
relations  with  its  object,  is,  so  far,  doomed  to  sterility.  Hate 
is  fruitful  only  when  made  to  subserve  a  love,  by  eliminating 
hindrances  to  its  growth  or  purging  it  of  elements  that  deface 
its  nobility.  Thus  the  "  patriotism  "  whose  core  is  the  hatred 
of  other  nations  is  a  poor  and  fruitless  thing,  but  hatred  of 
the  deeds  that  stain  our  country's  history  is  the  obverse  of 


THE  GROWTH  OF  THE  SELF  145 

a  noble  regard  for  her  honour.  Similarly — to  compare  a 
smaller  thing  with  a  greater — hatred  of  "  sloppiness  "  and 
inexactitude  is  a  necessary  element  in  every  type  of  "  scholar- 
ship." 

We  conclude  that  the  central  duty  of  school  teaching  is  to 
encourage  loves,  and  that  it  should  use  hates  only  as  the 
gardener  uses  his  pruning  knife  to  remove  the  rank  growth 
that  wastes  the  sap  of  the  tree,  and  spoils  its  beauty.  It 
follows  also  that  the  first  step  in  teaching  any  subject  should 
be  to  lay  the  firm  foundations  of  a  love,  by  so  presenting  it  as 
to  tempt  the  pupil  to  a  joyous  pursuit.  If  this  step  be  well 
taken  and  wisely  followed  up,  there  is  no  need  to  eliminate 
the  drudgery  inseparable  from  any  subject  worth  serious 
study.  The  course  of  true  love  never  did  run  smooth,  because 
it  never  could;  for  only  difficulty,  disappointment  and  hope 
deferred  can  evoke  the  energy  that  makes  a  genuine  senti- 
ment. 

From  this  digression  let  us  return  to  Jack,  and  seek  to 
fill  up  some  of  the  gaps  in  his  psychological  history. 

About  the  inner  life  of  a  baby  nothing  can  be  directly 
known;  we  can  only  observe  and  interpret  his  behaviour 
much  as  we  observe  and  interpret  the  behaviour  of  animals. 
There  is,  however,  no  doubt  that  in  the  earliest  months  one 
of  the  strongest  constituents  of  the  self  is  established — the 
sentiment  or  group  of  allied  sentiments  that  grows  up  around 
the  primitive  bodily  appetites  and  the  pleasures  and  pains 
of  the  physiological  functions.  According  to  the  psycho- 
analysts the  early  history  of  these  sentiments  has  profound 
significance  for  later  years;  for  it  does  much  to  determine 
whether  the  child  will  be  yielding  or  obstinate  in  temper, 
whether  he  will  become  an  "  extrovert  "  finding  his  business 
in  outward  things,  or  an  "  introvert  "  concerned  mainly  with 
his  own  feelings  and  thoughts.  And  ages  before  Freud  it 
was  recognized  that  the  sentiments  connected  with  bodily 
satisfactions  have  the  greatest  importance  for  character, 

10 


146    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

whether  they  develop  into  the  self-indulgence  of  the  volup- 
tuary or  the  asceticism  of  the  saint. 

Next,  gradually  separating  itself  from  the  sentiments  of 
the  body,  the  mother-sentiment  appears,  to  be  followed,  longo 
intervallo,  by  the  father-sentiment.  There  now  arises  a 
situation  which,  if  we  are  to  believe  Freud,  deserves,  far  more 
than  any  situation  of  adult  life,  to  be  called  "  the  eternal 
triangle. ' '  However  much  we  may  discount  Freud's  gruesome 
theory  of  the  "  CEdipus-complex,"  there  is  no  question  that 
Jack  will  acquire  from  his  relations  with  his  parents — and, 
to  a  smaller  degree,  with  his  brothers  and  sisters — engram- 
complexes  that  will  powerfully  influence,  for  good  or  evil, 
his  subsequent  conduct  and  happiness.  Thus,  though  it  may 
be  too  absolute  to  say  that  Jack,  when  he  goes  a-marrying, 
will  be  unconsciously  seeking  his  mother  again,  yet  it  is  safe 
to  predict  that  his  behaviour  in  the  new  relation  will  be  greatly 
affected,  positively  or  negatively,  by  the  character  of  the  first 
intimate  intercourse  of  his  life.  For,  as  Mr.  Shand  has  pointed 
out,  and  as  we  have  already  suggested,  every  strong  sentiment 
generates  its  own  peculiar  qualities  which  tend  to  reappear  in 
analogous  sentiments.  Similarly,  the  qualities  developed  in 
Jack's  sentiments  towards  the  family  cat  and  dog  may  be 
expected  to  colour  his  behaviour  towards  human  beings  over 
whom  he  has  the  same  despotic  power,  or,  if  they  do  not  appear 
in  the  same  form,  will  probably  be  expressed  symbolically 
or  show  other  signs  that  they  are  working  in  the  darkness  of 
"  the  unconscious  "  (pp.  47-53).  Similarly,  again,  Jack  will 
discover  in  the  development  of  his  sentiments  towards  his 
school  studies  the  ideal  of  patient  and  thorough  work  to  which 
he  will  owe  so  much  of  his  success  as  an  electrical  engineer. 

We  may  suppose  Jack  now  to  have  reached  the  age  of  seven. 
He  has  already  completed  much  of  his  education — perhaps  the 
most  important  part,  both  quantitatively  and  qualitatively. 
For,  on  the  one  hand,  he  will  certainly  not  learn  as  much  during 
any  subsequent  septennium,  and,  on  the  other  hand,  he  has 


THE  GROWTH  OF  THE  SELF  147 

acquired  the  absolute  essentials  for  civilized  living;  he  has 
even  learnt,  perhaps,  to  read  and  write.  His  visible  progress 
has  not  been  uniform ;  for  apparent  mental  growth,  like  physi- 
cal growth,  advances  not  in  a  straight  line  but  in  waves.  Until 
the  age  of  three,  Jack  was  climbing  rapidly  up  the  first  wave, 
and  is  now  in  slack  water.  But  this  is  true,  we  repeat,  only 
of  what  is  seen.  During  the  last  couple  of  years  a  great 
deal  of  consolidation  has  been  going  on  beneath  the  surface,  and 
that  is  of  equal  importance  with  visible  advance.  After  a 
second  period  of  rapid  movement,  a  second  slack  time  may 
be  expected  about  the  age  of  fourteen;  while  a  third  great 
wave  will  carry  the  youth  on  to  the  middle  twenties.  At  that 
age,  as  James  says,  old  fogeydom  already  lays  his  hand  on 
most  of  us,  little  as  we  may  expect  it ;  there  are  no  more  revolu- 
tions, but  only  consolidation  and  humdrum  progress  along 
lines  already  fixed.1 

Each  of  these  new  departures  is  preluded  by  the  emergence 
of  new  types  of  instinctive  impulse,  or  at  least  by  changes  in 
the  range  and  relative  importance  of  the  existing  types. 
During  the  first  seven  years,  home  has  given  Jack  all  he 
needed ;  he  has  been  contented  to  go  his  own  way,  finding  his 
own  pleasures,  and  using  his  elders  shamelessly  as  means  to 

1  W.  Stem,  whose  judicious  summary  ("Tatsachen  und  Ursachen  der 
seelischen  Entwicklung,"  Ztschft.  f.  ang.  Psych.,  1907)  is  very  helpful  here, 
does  not  fail  to  point  out  that  the  law  of  undular  advance  holds  for  particu- 
lar accomplishments  as  well  as  for  general  development.  He  records,  for 
instance,  that  his  child  had,  at  fifteen  months,  fifteen  words  at  her  disposal. 
For  some  months  she  appeared  to  gain  very  few  more,  though  her  parents 
noted  (at  nineteen  months)  their  impression  that  her  "speech-reservoir" 
was  silently  filling  up  and  must  some  day  suddenly  overflow.  Their  expecta- 
tion was  fulfilled;  for  during  her  twenty-fifth  month  she  made  use  of  more 
than  fifty  words  for  the  first  time. 

Similar  phenomena  occur  at  all  ages  and  in  connection  with  all  branches 
of  learning,  and  are,  as  Stern  rightly  insists,  of  much  importance  from  the 
standpoint  of  teaching-method;  the  most  active  mind  needs  its  "  incubation - 

S»eriods"  during  which  to  consolidate  past  achievements  and  to  prepare 
or  a  fresh  advance.     {Of.  Ballard's  experiment,  p.  46.) 

We  may  add  here  that  the  waves  of  development  in  girls  appear,  as  a 
rule,  a  year  or  so  before  they  appear  in  their  brothers,  and  spend  their  force 
earlier.  There  are,  nevertheless,  good  reasons  for  giving  girls  an  additional 
year  of  school  before  sending  them  to  the  University  or  into  business. 


148    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

them.  For  the  last  year  or  two  he  has  attended  a  "  Montessori 
school "  or  a  Kindergarten,  and  has  enjoyed  his  life  there  im- 
mensely, finding  the  school  a  glorified  annexe  to  home,  where 
one  has  more  interesting  things  to  do  with  less  interference 
from  fussy  grown-ups.  But  as  eight  approaches  he  begins 
to  hear  the  call  of  larger  interests,  and  to  feel  the  need  of 
other  children  to  be  no  longer  "  supers  "  but  fellow-actors  in 
the  drama  of  life.  Home  loses  its  all-importance,  and  shrinks 
to  a  base  of  operations  where  one  reposes  and  refits  between 
dazzling  adventures  with  joyous  comrades  in  the  great 
world.  Jack  is  enrolled  in  a  pack  of  "  Wolf  cubs,  "  and  joins 
the  junior  department  of  the  neighbouring  grammar  school.1 
Here,  being  a  lad  of  good  parts,  he  rapidly  develops  intellectual 
as  well  as  practical  interests,  and,  between  his  games,  becomes 
a  great  reader.  In  this  way,  and  by  ruthless  questioning  of 
informative  elders,  he  picks  up  a  considerable  amount  of 
assorted  learning,  and  by  twelve  has  acquired  an  astounding 
knowledge  about  aeroplanes — a  subject  in  which  he  has 
latterly  been  specializing  with  enormous  energy. 

The  broadest  difference  between  the  earlier  phase  of  child- 
hood and  the  one  Jack  has  now  reached  may  be  expressed  in 
Freudian  terms  by  saying  that  the  former  is  ruled  by  the 
"  pleasure-pain  principle,"  the  latter  by  the  "  reality 
principle."  We  have  noted  this  difference  in  play  (pp.  83-4), 
seeing  how  the  infant's  activities  first  develop  in  a  fantasy- 
world  which  answers  instantly  to  his  desires,  and  only  later 
become  disciplined  to  the  conditions  of  reality.  It  would, 
however,  be  an  error  to  regard  the  pleasure-pain  principle 
and  the  reality  principle  as  connoting  radically  different  types 
of  impulse.  The  transition  from  one  to  the  other  consists  in 
the  gradual  permeation  of  relatively  blind  instinctive  impulses 
by  intellectual   elements,  in  conformity  with  McDougall's 

1  We  must  pardon  Jack's  parents  their  middle-class  snobbery,  hoping 
that  when  he  himself  is  a  father  (or  at  least  a  grandfather)  the  "  public 
elementary  schools"  will  have  become  truly  "common  schools." 


THE  GROWTH  OF  THE  SELF  149 

general  law.  At  the  same  time,  the  conflict  between  the 
principles  of  which  Freud  speaks  is  a  real  and  important 
thing.  The  boy  of  twelve  is,  in  the  main,  a  realist  who  has 
learnt  to  comport  himself  in  his  world  (especially  in  his  social 
world)  as  its  nature  requires ;  but  he  is  liable.to  lapses  in  which 
the  complexes  underlying  his  normal  behaviour  lose  their 
coherence  (p.  75),  and  his  impulses  seek,  as  in  infancy,  short 
cuts  to  satisfaction.  Hence  the  sudden  fits  of  "temper," 
of  selfishness,  and  of  other  forms  of  naughtiness  into  which 
the  best  of  boys  or  girls  may  fall.1 

But  this  general  difference  is  associated  with  one  more 
specific — the  definite  emergence  of  the  herd-instinct  or 
"  gregariousness  "  which  is  the  main  root  of  social  conduct. 
Like  all  instincts,  gregariousness  develops  from  the  level  of 
simple,  unorganized  impulse  to  that  of  highly  intellectualized 
behaviour.  The  boy  of  ten  is  a  gregarious  but  hardly  a 
socialized  animal ;  he  still  regards  the  world  as  his  oyster,  but 
demands  the  help  and  countenance  of  others  in  opening  it. 
Thus  he  is  essentially  a  member  of  a  hunting  pack  in  which 
he  is  either  a  leader  or  one  of  the  led.2    He  rarely  attains  to 

1  A  writer  in  the  Educational  Supplement  of  The  Times  (June  19th, 
1919)  points  out  that  the  "childishness"  of  adults  is  to  be  referred  to  the 
same  cause,  and  contrasts  this  behaviour  with  the  "  childlikeness "  or 
simplicity  that  often  characterizes  a  thoroughly  harmonized  and  stable 
nature.  Upon  the  view  of  Dr.  Rivers  (p.  134,  footnote)  the  forms  of  be- 
haviour dominated  by  the  pleasure-pain  principle  and  the  reality  principle 
would,  presumably,  be  correlated,  respectively,  with  the  older  protopathic 
and  the  newer  epicritic  nervous  structures.  The  conflict  of  which  Freud 
writes  would  be  referred  to  the  fact  that  the  earlier  structures  may,  at  times, 
function  in  normal  persons,  as  they  do  in  some  insane  subjects,  inquasi- 
independence  of  the  more  recent. 

a  It  will  be  observed  that  Dr.  McDougall's  positive  and  negative  self- 
instincts,  when  associated  with  the  herd-instinct,  take  specific  forms  which 
Professor  Graham  Wallas  has  happily  termed  "  the  instincts  of  Giving  and 
Taking  the  Lead"  (The  Great  Society,  p.  142). 

In  the  view  of  some  writers — e.g.,  Carveth  Read  (p.  39) — the  herd-instinct 
arose  historically  when  our  prehuman  ancestors,  who  were  probably  non- 
social,  were  compelled  to  turn  from  vegetarianism  to  flesh  food,  and  were 
driven  to  hunting  in  packs  like  wolves.  The  reader  will  note  the  psycho- 
logical insight  which  led  Sir  R.  S.  Baden-Powell  to  institute  the  "  Wolf 
Pack"  for  boys  too  young  to  sustain  the  dignity  and  fulfil  the  law  of  the 
Scout. 


150    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

the  higher  levels  of  social  conduct  until  he  is  swept  up  to  them 
on  the  last  great  wave  of  his  development — adolescence. 

The  growth  of  the  instinct  illustrates  very  clearly  Dr. 
McDougall's  general  theory.  It  is  a  mistake  to  think  of  it 
as  an  innate  tendency  towards  social  behaviour  in  the  eulogistic 
sense  of  the  word  "  social  ";  it  consists,  at  first,  in  impulses, 
morally  colourless,  which  simply  urge  a  child  to  find  his  life 
in  active  relations  with  others.  The  course  of  those  relations 
is  settled  rather  by  the  subsequent  history  of  the  instinct  than 
by  its  original  character.  Thus  there  are  people,  in  whom 
the  instinct  is  strong,  who  are  miserable  when  they  are  alone 
because  they  have  then  no  one  to  quarrel  with  1  But  it  is 
evident  that  if  a  child  is  to  live  in  constant  intercourse  with 
others,  he  must  make  his  ways  square  with  theirs;  he  must 
make  their  mores  his  own.  Hence  the  morality  which  the 
child  first  adds  to  the  simple  ethic  of  family  life  is  the  law  of 
his  pack:  the  club-law,  which  remains,  with  the  majority,  the 
most  powerful  influence  on  conduct  throughout  their  days. 
With  the  advent  of  adolescence  what  was  in  the  main  an 
uncritical  acceptance  of  the  ways  and  standards  of  the  herd 
may,  however,  deepen  into  an  explicit  "  social  consciousness  " 
of  a  truly  ethical  or  religious  character.  The  adolescent  often 
cherishes,  with  generous  heat,  ideals  of  social  service  and 
sacrifice  for  others ;  he  may  set  himself  deliberately  to  increase 
the  happiness  or  to  raise  the  ethical  level  of  his  society ;  and 
may  even  be  driven,  if  it  proves  to  be  hopelessly  out  of 
harmony  with  his  new-found  ideals,  to  repudiate  its  claims 
upon  him,  and  to  transfer  his  allegiance  to  some  company  of 
elect  souls,  the  noble  living  or  the  noble  dead. 

Social  life,  created  and  sustained  by  the  gregarious  instinct, 
is  thus  the  primary  school  of  morals  in  which  all  men  are 
formed.  Speaking  generally,  the  principles  of  conduct  learnt 
there  are  those  that  tend  to  subserve  the  stability  and  well- 
being  of  the  common  life;  but,  since  societies  have  grown  up 
under  the  most  varied  conditions  and  have  widely  different 


THE  GROWTH  OF  THE  SELF  151 

histories,  there  have  been  and  still  are  great  divergences 
between  their  actual  moral  codes.1  Even  within  the  limits  of 
a  single  social  group  there  may  be  differences  of  life  so  marked 
and  so  constant  as  to  generate  widely  diverse  conceptions  of 
virtue  and  vice.  According  to  the  American  sociologist, 
Thorstein  Veblen,2  the  social  structure  of  the  modern  Western 
nations  still  retains,  in  transmuted  form,  a  moral  bifurcation 
of  this  kind,  established  in  the  barbarian  stage  of  their  cultural 
development.  Barbarian  man  reserved  to  himself  all  functions 
connected  with  government,  warfare,  hunting,  religious 
observances  and  sports;  and  he  relegated  all  base,  mechanical 
functions  to  his  women.  With  the  growth  of  slavery  this 
division  of  functions  ceased  to  have  the  simplicity  of  a  sex- 
distinction,  but  it  persists  in  modern  societies  as  the  difference 
between  the  leisured,  non-productive  classes  and  the  "  lower 
orders  "  who  labour  with  their  hands. 

Now  the  important  point  is  that  the  primitive  severance  of 
functions  produced  two  very  different  schemes  of  values; 
in  short,  two  moral  traditions,  in  part  complementary  but  in 
part  sharply  opposed.  The  masculine  tradition  gives  honour 
to  the  qualities  that  ensure  success  in  aggressive  and  preda- 
tory activities,  to  the  ostentatious  accumulation  of  property 
beyond  the  needs  of  use,  to  "  conspicuous  leisure  "  in  which 
the  lord's  women-folk  and  retinue  must  share  for  the  increase 
of  his  glory,  to  social  splendour,  finally  to  learning  and  art — 
for  these,  too,  offer  opportunities  of  patronage  and  a  field  of 
useless  occupation  where  the  humbler  or  less  robustious 
members  of  the  honorific  class  may  find  scope  for  an  "  instinct 
of  workmanship  "  that  cannot  be  wholly  suppressed.  The 
feminine  tradition  exalts  peacefulness,  pity,  loving-kindness, 
endurance  of  toil  and  hard  living,  and  the  other  qualities  that 
make  for  success  in  productive  and  industrial  activities. 

1  The  facts  collected  in  such  works  as  Westermarck's  "  Origin  and 
Development  of  Moral  Ideas  "  show  impressively  how  great  the  divergences 
are. 

*  "The  Theory  of  the  Leisure  Glass"  (M&cmillan,  1905). 


152    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

The  social  stir  and  confusion  that  mark  the  modern  age  is 
due  mainly  to  the  present  tendency  of  the  two  traditions  to 
overflow  their  ancient  borders.  On  the  one  hand,  the 
mechanical  class  threatens  the  preserves  of  the  predatory 
aristocracy.  The  rich  merchant  hankers  after  a  country 
estate;  the  smaller  tradesman  must  have  his  suburban  villa 
with  well-trimmed  lawn  and  "  conspicuously  useless  "  flower- 
beds ;  the  artisan  demands  leisure  to  pursue  sport,  learning 
or  art;  the  lowliest  peasants  discard  their  convenient  and 
graceful  costumes  to  assume  the  garb  of  those  who  neither 
toil  nor  spin.  On  the  other  hand,  the  aristocracy  are,  with 
increasing  frequency,  engaging  in  industry  and  commerce. 
They  go  upon  the  Stock  Exchange  or  into  banking,  they  be- 
come company  directors,  they  take  ranches  in  the  newer 
countries,  they  even  engage  in  trade.  And  more  significant 
still,  there  is  in  all  classes,  especially  in  the  higher,  the  demand 
of  women  for  "emancipation";  a  demand,  says  Veblen, 
motived  partly  by  a  determination  to  escape  from  their 
barbarian  status  as  foils  to  men,  partly  by  a  longing  to  satisfy 
the  "  instinct  of  workmanship  "  in  which  woman's  nature  is 
so  rich. 

Other  writers  have  emphasized  another  discrepancy  in  our 
moral  traditions:  namely,  between  the  tradition  of  home  life, 
where  the  rule  is  co-operation  for  the  good  of  all,  and  the 
tradition  of  the  economic  world,  where  every  man's  hand  is 
against  his  fellows.  The  practical  conclusion  they  reach  is, 
in  principle,  the  same  as  that  which  follows  from  Veblen's 
study:  if  our  civilization  is  to  be  healed  of  its  present  sickness, 
if  social  equilibrium  is  again  to  be  reached,  it  can  be  only 
through  a  fusion  of  the  two  moral  traditions  which  will  give 
woman-morality  its  due  place  in  every  department  of  life.1 

1  This  is  the  burden  of  Alfred  Corner's  stirring  little  book,  "The  End 
of  Male  Ascendancy"  (The  Peto  Publishing  Company,  1917)  and  of  some 
profound  pages  in  B.  Branford's  "Janus  and  Vesta"  (see  p.  220).  It  is 
also  the  leading  idea  in  Benjamin  Kidd's  "Science  of  Power"  (Methuen, 
1918). 


THE  GROWTH  OF  THE  SELF  153 

Our  concern  with  these  views  is  not  to  assess  them,  but 
to  use  them  to  exemplify  the  principle  that  the  moral  code 
actually  expressed  in  men's  deeds,  in  distinction  (often  a 
painful  distinction)  from  the  code  they  officially  profess,  is  a 
function  of  the  concrete  social  order  wherein  they  live  and  act. 
That  principle  has  most  important  educational  corollaries.  It 
not  only  explains  the  existence  of  that  unsatisfactory  thing 
called  "schoolboy  morality,"  but  shows  that  no  moral  instruc- 
tion can  change  it  unless  the  form  of  the  school  society  is  itself 
changed.  It  also  shows,  conversely,  that  moral  instruction 
is  useless  unless  it  is  based  on  the  actual  social  experience 
of  boys  and  girls,  and  helps  them  to  solve  the  problems  of 
conduct  their  experience  presents.  Thus,  it  reinforces  the 
principle  that  the  school  should  give  its  pupils  scope  to  work 
out  their  own  education  freely  under  the  guidance  of  sound 
traditions  (p.  103).  Lastly,  it  reminds  the  teacher  that  the 
moral  tradition  he  himself  follows  and  tends  to  propagate  is 
almost  certainly  coloured  by  some  specific  type  of  social 
experience  and  history.  It  challenges  him,  therefore,  to 
ascertain  its  sources,  and  so  assure  himself  that  it  represents 
not  the  narrow  outlook  of  a  single  class,  or  even  of  a  single 
people,  but  something  universally  human. 

The  social  instinct,  we  have  said,  begins  its  finer  work  as 
adolescence  approaches.  Jack,  we  may  suppose,  has  now 
reached  that  great  climacteric,  that  new  birth  of  body  and  mind. 
The  premonitory  symptoms  have  been  evident  for  the  last 
year  or  two  :  a  sudden  increase  in  height,  a  loss  of  the  rounded 
features  of  childhood,  a  deterioration  in  the  treble  voice  that 
did  such  good  serviceinthe  school  choir.  It  has  been  remarked, 
too,  that  his  zeal  for  study  had  diminished,  that  he  had 
deserted  his  old  hobbies,  that  he  had  become  a  little  moody 
and  intractable — in  short,  that  he  seemed  to  have  lost  his 
bearings.  But  though,  at  sixteen,  he  is  no  longer  the  same 
Jack,  he  is  rapidly  shaping  into  a  new  one.    He  displays  a 


154    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

startling  solicitude  about  his  appearance,  is  exacting  on  the 
question  of  collars,  resents  imputations  on  his  manners,  and 
is  conscious,  evidently  in  a  bewildering  new  way,  of  the  exist- 
ence of  the  other  sex.  As  regards  work,  he  has  pulled  him- 
self together  in  time  to  pass  his  matriculation  examination 
creditably,  and  is  now  entering  upon  an  advanced  course  in 
science  and  mathematics  with  great  vigour,  and  with  a  clear 
awareness  that  he  is  laying  the  foundations  of  his  professional 
career.  Indeed,  if  he  were  not  at  least  equally  zealous  for 
the  honour  of  his  school  in  sports,  and  serious  about  his  duties 
as  a  prefect,  he  might  degenerate  into  that  deplorable  charac- 
ter, a  "  swot  "  1  His  inner  mind  is  not  nearly  so  accessible 
as  of  old,  but  those  who  are  privileged  to  glimpse  into  it  find 
great  changes  there.  Jack  has  stumbled  into  the  discovery 
of  two  infinites — the  infinite  in  nature  and  the  infinite  in  his 
own  soul.  The  childish  fancy  that  once  played  capriciously 
with  the  outer  world  is  replaced  by  the  imagination  that 
seeks  its  deeper  meaning.  He  is  just  now  reading  Keats  and 
Darwin  with  hot  enthusiasm  and  a  vague  feeling  that  they 
belong  together.  He  will  gladly  talk  about  them  with  his 
intimates,  but  about  his  other  discovery  he  is  silent.  It  is 
known,  however,  that  he  slips  off  to  church  on  unofficial 
occasions,  and  it  is  suspected  that  he  has  a  copy  of  Thomas 
a  Kempis  concealed  in  his  bedroom. 

These  things  are  clear  evidence  that  new  sentiments  are 
springing  up  in  Jack's  nature,  and  that  some  of  the  earlier 
ones  are  changing  their  objects  and  becoming  greatly  widened 
and  deepened.  These  will,  no  doubt,  exhibit  many  qualities 
carried  over  from  his  childish  sentiments ;  but  repressions  and 
sublimination  have  been  active  during  the  period  of  change, 
and  much  of  the  older  material  has  been  worked  up  into  forms 
novel  enough  to  give  a  fresh  turn  to  the  lad's  character. 

Among  the  expanded  structures  we  must  take  special 
note  of  what  McDougall  calls  the  self-regarding  sentiment. 
In  early  life  our  sentiments  are  almost  as  "  objective  "  as  the 


THE  GROWTH  OF  THE  SELF  155 

animals'.  A  greedy  little  boy  aims  at  the  largest  share  of  the 
chocolates  as  simply  as  a  greedy  dog  aims  at  getting  the 
largest  share  of  the  bones ;  a  little  girl  in  a  pretty  new  frock 
indulges  her  positive  self-feeling  almost  as  naively  as  a  pea- 
cock exhibiting  his  tail.  Even  in  adult  life  such  objectivity 
remains  possible;  a  man  may  often  be  so  much  absorbed  in 
the  immediate  object  of  his  activity  as  to  forget  everything 
else.  But  in  quite  early  days  man,  as  distinguished  from  other 
animals,  begins  first  to  recognize,  then  to  appreciate  himself 
as  an  actor  in  his  life's  drama.  "  Self-consciousness  "  probably 
arises  from  the  infant's  discovery  of  the  distinction  between 
his  body  and  all  other  things,  a  distinction  made  possible  by 
the  pleasures  and  pains  that  are  found  to  be  connected  with 
the  body.  In  time  it  spreads  from  this  centre  to  his  clothes 
and  his  toys,  to  his  family  and  friends ;  in  later  years  to  the 
house  he  owns,  to  his  prize  dogs,  to  the  business  he  has  built 
up,  and  so  on  indefinitely.  For  his  dealings  with  these  things 
give  rise  not  only  to  sentiments  directed  immediately  towards 
them,  but  also  to  a  secondary  "  self-regarding  "  sentiment 
directed  towards  them  as  inseparably  connected  with  his 
feeling  and  acting  self.  In  short  these  things  become,  so  to 
speak,  the  capital  with  which  he  consciously  faces  the  world ; 
and  that  capital,  as  it  prospers  or  dwindles,  is  the  object  of 
joy  or  sorrow,  hope  or  fear,  and  of  the  other  systematized 
feelings  that  may  enter  into  a  sentiment.  Meanwhile  he 
learns,  through  relations  with  others,  to  focus  his  attention 
upon  himself  as  an  agent  and  upon  the  character  of  his  acts. 
Through  the  praise  and  blame,  the  rewards  and  punishments 
of  parents  and  teachers,  through  the  frank  verdicts  and 
merciless  practical  criticism  of  his  school-fellows,  through  the 
more  restrained  but  yet  more  terrible  force  of  "  club  opinion  " 
in  adult  life,  he  comes  to  entertain  towards  himself  as  an 
agent  emotions  and  desires  that  enter  into  and  become  the 
strongest  part  of  the  self-regarding  sentiment. 

A  healthy  adolescent  has  usually  reached  in  this  way  a 


15G    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

fairly  coherent  conception  of  his  self  as  an  "  ideal  object," 
including  some  vision  of  what  he  actually  is  and  some  prevision 
of  what  he  may  and  should  become.  It  may  be  merely  the 
idea  of  a  self  that  keeps  strictly  within  the  limits  of  "  good 
form,"  or  of  one  inspired  by  teaching,  observation  and  read- 
ing to  stretch  out  towards  original  lines  of  achievement  and 
lofty  ends.  And  when  it  is  formed,  the  self -regarding  senti- 
ment, whose  object  it  is,  plays  in  all  the  affairs  of  his  life, 
especially  in  its  crises,  the  dominant  and  most  widely  con- 
trolling part. 

It  will  be  seen  that  the  function  of  the  self-regarding 
sentiment  is  to  exercise  control  over  the  "  objective  "  senti- 
ments that  form  the  ground-basis  of  the  self.  Suppose  a 
money-loving  man  to  have  the  opportunity  of  making  great 
gain  by  safe  but  questionable  means.  A  habit  of  honesty, 
acquired  like  a  dog's,  may  keep  him  straight,  but  if  this  is 
not  strong  enough,  there  may  still  be,  in  the  self-regarding 
sentiment,  a  reserve  force  sufficient  to  restrain  the  impulses 
that  belong  to  the  sentiment  for  gain.  The  man  turns  his 
mental  gaze  back  from  the  immediate  object  of  the  sentiment 
and  views  himself  as  the  agent  in  this  dirty  business.  His 
self-contemplation  is  coloured  by  the  shame  and  remorse 
he  had  suffered  through  backsliding  in  the  past,  and  by  antici- 
pation of  possible  shame  and  remorse  to  come ;  and  the  thought 
of  himself  as  the  doer  of  this  act  is,  we  may  suppose,  rejected 
in  a  moment  of  aversion  that  wells  up  out  of  the  self-regarding 
sentiment. 

This  trite  example  may  suffice  to  show  how  the  self- 
regarding  sentiment  becomes  the  vehicle  of  "  conscience  " 
and  of  the  moral  will  that  waits  on  it,  and  also  to  indicate  the 
essential  part  played  by  the  social  instinct  in  the  generation 
of  conscience.  But  the  sentiment  serves  another  controlling 
function  of  high  importance.  If,  like  Professor  James,  "I, 
who  for  the  time  have  staked  my  all  on  being  a  psychologist, 
am  mortified  if  others  know  much  more  psychology  than  I; 


THE  GROWTH  OF  THE  SELF  157 

but  I  am  contented  to  wallow  in  the  grossest  ignorance  of 
Greek,"  it  is  because  my  self-regarding  sentiment  has  firmly 
attached  itself  to  myself-as-a-psychologist  as  its  "  ideal 
object."  In  brief,  the  sentiment  acts  like  a  gyroscopic  wheel, 
keeping  my  self-assertion  true  to  its  main  direction  of  expres- 
sion (see  p.  142). 

We  must,  however,  be  careful  not  to  take  too  simple  a 
view  of  this  function.  The  ground-basis  of  the  self  is,  as  we 
have  seen,  a  very  complicated  thing,  prompting  to  develop- 
ments in  many  directions,  some  of  which  would  prove,  in  the 
end,  quite  incompatible.  A  man,  gifted  by  nature  and  smiled 
on  by  fortune,  may  approximate  to  the  Greek  ideal,  and 
build  up  a  self  into  which  the  love  of  the  body,  of  family  and 
friends,  of  riches,  of  intellectual  and  spiritual  things  makes 
a  unified  and  nicely  balanced  whole;  but  even  a  man  of 
"  strong  character  "  generally  has  to  make  drastic  sacrifices 
among  his  possibilities,  while  a  man  of  weak  character  wobbles 
and  drifts  and  reaches  no  stable  self  at  all.1  The  average 
'man  compromises ;  he  tries  to  run  several  more  or  less  distinct 
selves,  among  which  there  must  generally  be,  in  James's  phrase, 
a  certain  conflict  and  rivalry.  Thus  Jack  at  the  age  of  forty 
will  not  be  merely  an  electrical  engineer.  He  will  be  also, 
we  may  imagine,  a  devoted  family  man,  keen  upon  backing 
his  wife's  social  pretensions,  and  on  securing  his  children's 
future ;  an  esteemed  churchwarden,  who  stands  well  with  the 
vicar  and  is  not  indifferent  to  his  reputation  for  serious  views 
and  good  works;  and,  perhaps,  a  golfer  sternly  bent  on  re- 

1  A  quotation  from  James's  famous  chapter  ("  Principles  of  Psychology," 
ch.  x.)  is  inevitable  here:  "Not  that  I  would  not,  if  I  could,  be  both  hand- 
some and  fat  and  well  dressed,  and  a  great  athlete,  and  make  a  million  a 
year;  be  a  wit,  a  bon  vivanl,  and  a  lady-killer,  as  well  as  a  philosopher; 
a  philanthropist,  statesman,  warrior,  and  African  explorer,  as  well  as  a 
"tone-poet"  and  saint.  But  the  thing  is  simply  impossible.  The  million- 
aire's work  would  run  counter  to  the  saint's;  the  bon  vivant  and  the  philan- 
thropist would  trip  each  other  up;  the  philosopher  and  the  lady-killer  could 
not  well  keep  house  in  the  same  tenement  of  clay.  Such  different  char- 
acters may  conceivably  at  the  outset  of  life  be  alike  possible  to  a  man.  But 
to  make  any  one  of  them  actual,  the  rest  must  more  or  less  be  suppressed." 


158      EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

ducing  his  handicap.  And  he  will  be  singularly  fortunate 
if  his  organism  can  carry  these  diverse  selves  without  occasional 
distraction  and  conflict. 

Even  in  normal  cases,  then,  the  self-regarding  sentiment 
does  not  exercise  perfectly  its  function  of  control  over  the 
development  and  organization  of  the  primary  sentiments ;  to  a 
certain  extent  it  is  liable,  so  to  speak,  to  be  divided  against 
itself.  In  pathological  cases  a  group  of  sentiments  may  get 
so  entirely  out  of  hand  that  the  division  in  the  self-regarding 
sentiment  becomes  complete,  and  to  say  that  the  organism 
harbours  more  than  one  self  is  then  a  statement  of  plain  fact. 
These  are  the  cases  of  "  multiple  personality,"  of  which  one 
of  the  best  studied1  is  the  celebrated  case  of  "  Miss  Beau- 
champ,"  the  University  student  whose  organism,  as  the  result 
of  some  moral  shock,  produced  a  vigorous  secondary  person- 
ality calling  herself  "  Sally  " — a  personality  with  all  the  live- 
liness and  caprice  of  a  naughty  child,  who  from  time  to 
time  displaced  the  prim  Miss  Beauchamp  from  command 
of  her  sense-organs  and  powers  of  movement,  and  horri- 
fied that  innocent  young  woman  by  the  scandalous  levity 
of  the  conduct  for  which  she  was  made  to  appear  respon- 
sible. 

We  need  expect  no  such  catastrophes  in  the  life  of  Jack, 
whose  purely  fictive  career  has  been  used  as  the  occasion  for 
our  psychological  comments;  but  their  existence  and  nature 
strongly  confirm  the  view  of  the  self,  as  a  gradually 
developed  organization,  which  we  have  attempted  to 
make  clear. 

1  By  Dr.  Morton  Prince  ("The  Dissociation  of  a  Personality,"  Long- 
mans, 1906).  Other  famous  cases  are  described  in  James's  "Principles." 
B.  Hart,  "  The  Psychology  of  Insanity,"  ch.  iv.  (see  above,  p.  57),  gives  a 
very  clear  analysis  of  the  phenomena  of  dissociation — which  are,  as  the  reader 
will  see,  closely  connected  with  the  facts  of  relaxation  described  on  pp.  74-5. 


THE  GROWTH  OF  THE  SELF  159 


NOTES  ON  BOOKS,  ETC. 

Mr.  A.  F.  Shand's  theory  of  sentiments  is  expounded  and  used  in 
McDougall's  "Social  Psychology"  and  developed  at  length  in  his  own 
book,  "The  Foundations  of  Character"  (Macmillan,  1914).  J.  M.  Baldwin, 
"Social  and  Ethical  Interpretations  "  (Macmillan,  1899), illustrates  fully  the 
inter-play  of  positive  and  negative  moments  described  on  p.  140.  J.  W. 
Slaughter,  "The  Adolescent"  (George  Allen,  1912),  is  an  excellent  little 
book  for  those  who  cannot  face  STA^XBY  Hall's  monumental  "  Adolescence" 
(Appleton,  2  vols.,  1904).  The  first  chapter  of  L.  T.  Hobhotjse,  "Morals 
in  Evolution"  (Chapman  and  Hall,  2nd  ed.,  1908),  gives  a  masterly  analysis 
of  the  r&le  of  the  social  instinct  in  moral  growth. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  MECHANISM   OF  KNOWLEDGE   AND   ACTION 

In  the  preceding  chapter  we  traced  the  growth  of  the  self 
mainly  in  terms  of  feeling,  for  the  reason  that  our  appetites 
and  emotions  are  in  a  special  sense  the  "  foundations  of 
character."  But,  with  the  discussion  of  Chap.  XI.  in  mind, 
the  reader  will  readily  see  that  there  can  be  no  organization 
of  feelings  into  sentiments,  of  sentiments  into  a  self,  apart 
from  a  parallel  development  in  the  objects  to  which  feeling 
responds  and  in  the  actions  that  issue  from  it.  Thus  the 
simple  emotion  of  fear  may  be  awakened,  say,  by  the  explosion 
of  a  bomb,  but  the  sentiment  of  hatred  that  grows  out  of  it 
has  a  much  more  remote  and  complex  object,  such  as  war, 
while  the  self  as  a  whole  responds  to  still  more  abstract  objects, 
such  as  duty;  and  the  actions  that  flow  from  the  emotion, 
from  the  sentiment,  from  the  self,  show  a  corresponding 
increase  in  complexity. 

The  task  now  before  us  is  to  study  in  more  detail  the  growt  h 
of  cognition  (or  knowledge)  and  of  action.  For  education, 
it  is  of  the  highest  importance  to  realize  that  cognition  and 
action  always  occur  in  an  organic  unity  from  which  neither 
can  be  separated  without  destruction  of  the  other.  In  the 
simpler  activities  the  connection  between  them  is  easily 
brought  out,  even  when  it  is  not  immediately  obvious.  It  is 
clear,  for  instance,  that  one  cannot  "  take  in  "  the  form  of 
an  object  or  the  contents  of  a  picture  without  constant 
adjustments  of  head  and  eyes,  including  delicate  movements 
of  the  focusing  muscles.    Again,  if  the  reader  will  open  his 

160 


MECHANISM  OF  KNOWLEDGE  AND  ACTION     161 

mouth,  hold  his  lips  widely  apart,  and  think  how  such  words 
as  "  prism,"  "  parallelogram  "  sound,  he  will  probably  be 
aware  of  an  almost  irresistible  tendency  to  move  lips  and 
tongue,  and  find  that  he  cannot  pronounce  the  words  "  men- 
tally "  unless  at  least  he  deliberately  recalls  how  the  move- 
ments of  those  organs  would  "  feel."  Conversely,  if  he  will 
scribble  a  few  sentences,  attending  meanwhile  to  what  goes 
on  in  his  mind,  he  will  probably  notice  that  the  act  of  writing 
is  accompanied  by  "  inner  speech  " — that  is,  by  the  silent 
repetition  of  the  words  in  his  own  voice  or  another's ;  and  he 
may,  especially  where  he  is  uncertain  of  the  spelling,  have 
before  his  "  mental  eye  "  a  fleeting  vision  of  how  the  words 
look  in  print  or  script.1 

In  the  higher  types  of  intellectual  activity  the  connection 
between  cognition  and  action  becomes  so  subtle  that  it  needs 
careful  analysis  to  bring  it  to  light;  but  it  can  always  be 
detected  if  the  inquiry  is  pushed  deep  enough.  For  example, 
the  mastery  of  a  geometrical  theorem  would  seem  a  purely 
intellectual  performance;  yet  when  the  learner  is  bidden  to 
11  suppose  the  triangle  ABC  to  be  superimposed  upon  the 
triangle  DEF,"  it  becomes  clear  that  action,  after  all,  is  not 
really  excluded.  Facts  of  this  kind  justify  Mr.  Bradley  in 
saying  that  to  reason  is  to  "  perform  an  ideal  experiment  "; 
we  do  so-and-so  in  imagination  and  note  what  consequences 
would  follow.  Nor  is  thought  free  from  the  trammels  of 
action  even  when  it  soars  into  the  heights  of  metaphysics — 

Where  never  creeps  a  cloud,  or  moves  a  wind,  . . . 
Nor  sound  of  human  sorrow  mounts  to  mar 
Their  sacred  everlasting  calm. 

1  The  silent  repetition  of  the  sound  of  speech  or  (e~g.)  of  a  melody  is 
called  an  auditory  image,  the  "  mental  picture"  of  an  absent  object  a  visval 
image.  People  differ  widely  in  regard  to  their  power  of  calling  up  images 
and  the  use  they  make  of  them.  Some,  especially  scientific  men,  who  get 
into  the  habit  of  thinking  solely  in  terms  of  words  and  mathematical  sym- 
bols, appear  to  have  no  visual  imagery.  It  is,  however,  probable  that  all 
normal  children  have  both  visual  and  auditory  images,  and  that  the  differ- 
ences that  are  found  in  older  persons  are  due  to  habit  and  practice.     The 

11 


162      EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

For  thought  can  rise  only  on  the  wings  of  words,  and,  as  we 
shall  see,  the  meaning  of  the  most  abstract  words  is,  at  bottom, 
only  action,  cunningly  disguised. 

We  have  here  the  basis  of  the  well-worn  maxim,  Learn 
by  Doing;  which  means  that  understanding  and  action  are 
so  intimately  related  by  nature  that  they  cannot  be  sundered 
without  loss — loss  that  does  not  fall  least  heavily  on  the  side 
of  understanding.  This,  for  example,  is  what  Sir  J.  J. 
Thomson  meant  when  he  observed  that  Senior  Wranglers, 
on  taking  a  course  of  practical  work  in  his  laboratory,  were 
astonished  to  find  that  their  formulae  were  true  !  A  mathe- 
matical truth  may  be  but  a  tenuous  thing,  even  for  a  Senior 
Wrangler,  until  it  gains  life  and  body  by  incorporation  in 
action.  That  is  why  it  is  hardly  possible  to  overestimate 
the  value  of  practical  work  in  teaching  such  subjects  as 
mathematics,  geography  and  science,  especially  in  the 
earlier  stages.  Even  where  practical  work  is  not  feasible,  a 
theoretical  argument  should  generally  be  presented  in  a 
setting  of  imagined  experience,  rather  than  in  a  purely  logical 
exposition.1  The  judicious  use  of  the  dramatic  method  in 
teaching  history  is  parallel  with  the  direct  form  of  practical 
work;  while  to  discuss  the  application  of  historical  and 
political  principles  to  present-day  problems  is  to  follow  the 
indirect  practical  method  which  is  generally  more  appropriate 
in  teaching  older  pupils.2    And  we  have  recently  insisted  on 

imagination  of  "how  it  feels"  to  make  a  movement — e.g.,  to  lift  the  arm 
while  it  remains  at  one's  side,  or  to  stand  up  while  one  remains  sitting — 
is  called  a  kinesthetic  image.  This  type  of  image  is  referred  to  in  the  pre- 
ceding sentence  of  the  text. 

1  The  reader  will  find  in  Professor  John  Perry's  writings,  in  Mr.  J. 
Strachan's  article  in  "The  New  Teaching,"  or  in  the  present  author's 
"Teaching  of  Algebra"  numerous  applications  of  this  principle  in  mathe- 
matics. 

a  In  one  well-known  public  school  the  history  master  used  to  take  his 
senior  boys  to  some  characteristic  industrial  district  to  study  political 
and  industrial  problems  in  situ  ;  in  another,  local  trade  union  leaders,  etc., 
are  invited  to  visit  the  school  debating  society  from  time  to  time.  There  is 
a  danger  that  such  methods  may  be  turned  to  propagandist  purposes  that 
have  no  proper  place  in  a  school,  but,  if  judiciously  used,  they  succeed,  as 
nothing  else  can,  in  giving  a  solid  basis  to  historico-political  studies. 


MECHANISM  OF  KNOWLEDGE  AND  ACTION     163 

the  importance  of  basing  moral  training  on  vivid  and  natural 
social  experience  (p.  153).  All  this  fits  in,  as  it  ought  to  do, 
with  what  we  have  learnt  about  the  didactic  value  of  the 
play-motive. 

The  old  psychology  taught  that  all  higher  knowledge 
grows  out  of  the  immediate  cognitive  contact1  with  the  outer 
world  which  we  gain  through  the  senses.  Modern  psychology 
insists  that  the  basis  is  really  wider  than  this ;  that  it  includes 
not  only  sensation,  but  also  the  muscular  movements  which 
sensations  provoke  through  feeling.  The  famous  statue 
which  Condillac  imagined  to  become  endowed  with  the  human 
senses,  one  after  the  other,  would  never  have  gained  human 
intelligence  as  long  as  it  remained  a  statue,  and  so  unable  to 
reply  by  movement  to  the  challenges  of  the  outer  world.  The 
physician-teacher  Seguin  was  the  first  to  grasp  clearly  the 
pedagogical  significance  of  this  truth.  He  noticed  that  weak- 
minded  children  are  often  incapable  of  the  simplest  organized 
movements;  they  cannot  grasp  and  roll  a  ball  like  normal 
children,  or  follow  its  path  easily  by  co-ordinated  movements 
of  head  and  eye.  With  penetrating  insight  he  connected 
their  feebleness  of  intellect  with  this  deficiency,  and  sought 
to  ameliorate  the  former  by  curing  the  latter.  His  method, 
as  is  well  known,  was  adapted  by  Dr.  Montessori  to  be  a  car- 
dinal feature  of  the  training  she  prescribes  for  normal 
children.  In  a  Montessori  school  the  little  people  of 
three  and  four  spend  much  time  in  inserting  buttons 
into  button-holes,  in  threading  and  tying  laces,  in  fitting 
cylinders  and  geometrical  insets  into  the  holes  that 
match  them,   and  it  is  claimed   that    in   this   way  they 


1  We  must  distinguish  between  the  immediate  cognitive  contact  we 
have  with  a  thing  when  we  see,  hear,  touch,  smell  or  taste  it,  and  the  in- 
direct cognitive  contact  we  have  when  we  remember  or  think  of  it  in  its 
absence,  using  images  or  words,  or  when  we  learn  about  it  through  the 
spoken  or  written  speech  of  another.  There  is  a  parallel  distinction  between 
direct  and  indirect  action — for  instance,  I  may  go  and  fetch  a  thing  myself, 
or  move  another's  muscles  to  do  so  by  speech  or  writing. 


164    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

lay  the   best   possible   foundation   for   higher  intellectual 
achievements.1 

The  "  sensori-motor  reactions  "  which  contain,  according 
to  this  doctrine,  the  promise  and  potency  of  all  human 
achievement,  call  for  closer  examination.  Let  us  consider 
a  typical  case.  I  approach  a  puppy,  lying  passively  on  his 
side,  and  stimulate  his  skin  by  patting  him  lightly  behind 
the  shoulder.  After  two  or  three  taps,  his  hind  leg  begins 
to  show  a  rhythmic  vibration  which  soon  grows  into  a  vigorous 
scratching  movement.  When  I  cease  patting,  this  movement 
continues  for  a  moment  and  then  dies  away.  To  understand 
what  has  happened  here  we  must  look  with  the  eyes  of  the 
anatomist  and  the  physiologist  below  the  dog's  skin.  Beneath 
numerous  spots  ("  pressure  spots  ")  in  the  area  patted,  fine 
white  threads  arise  which  can  be  traced  back  to  the  spinal  cord 
that  lies  within  the  backbone.  On  the  way  thither,  they  come 
together  to  form  bundles  (the  "  nerves  "),  in  which  they  lie 
side  by  side,  insulated  from  one  another  like  the  wires  in  an 
electric  cable.  Just  before  a  bundle  runs  into  the  cord 
through  a  "  posterior  root,"  making  its  way  between  two 
M  vertebrae  "  of  the  spine,  each  thread  connects  sideways  with 
a  minute  bulb  of  nervous  matter  forming  part  of  a  swelling 
or  "  ganglion  "  of  the  posterior  root.  Beyond  these  bulbous 
masses  the  threads  enter  into  the  cord,  and  break  up  into 
fine  branches  that  are  distributed  largely  round  the  similar 
bulbs  that  teem  there. 

1  Miss  Margaret  McMillan,  in  her  touching  little  book,  "The  Camp 
School"  (Allen  and  Unwin,  1917),  maintains  that  much  of  the  dulness  and 
backwardness  of  children  in  a  slum  district,  such  as  Deptford,  is  due  to  laok 
of  training  of  the  basal  senses — that  is,  not  only  of  the  eye  and  ear,  but  of 
smell,  the  temperature  sense  and  the  "  mother  sense"  of  touch.  Only  one 
in  twelve  of  her  children  could,  when  blindfolded,  tell  one  strong-scented 
flower  from  another.  Some  would  be  content  to  live  in  a  bath  of  perspira- 
tion, always  over-clothed;  some  to  remain  in  the  open  with  blue  lips  and 
chattering  teeth.  "  The  patience  of  the  poor  [she  says]  is  not  all  patience. 
It  is  largely  insensibility."  To  such  children  a  shower-bath,  with  its  power- 
ful appeal  to  dull  senses  and  flaccid  muscles,  may  mean  a  veritable  begin- 
ning of  intellectual  and  moral  enlightenment. 


MECHANISM  OF  KNOWLEDGE  AND  ACTION     165 

Each  thread  with  its  bulb  constitutes  a  "  neurone  "  or 
anatomical  unit  of  the  nervous  system.  The  bulb  is  the 
"  nerve-cell "  or  "  cell-body,"  the  centre  of  the  neurone's 
life  and  activity.1  The  thread,  from  the  pressure-spot  to 
the  cell-body,  is  the  "  axon  "  or  nerve-fibre  of  the  neurone; 
beyond  that  point  it  is  the  "  dendron,"  breaking  up  into  fine 
"  dendrites."  Since  the  function  of  the  neurones  we  have 
just  now  in  view  is  to  carry  the  nervous  stimulation  from  the 
skin  to  the  spinal-cord,  they  are  called  "  sensory,"  "  afferent," 
or  "  receptor  "  neurones,  and  the  ends  of  the  axons,  where 
the  "  nervous  current  "  was  set  up  by  the  tapping,  are  called 
"  receptor  organs,"  or  simply  "  receptors." 

The  nervous  current  conveyed  through  a  receptor  neurone 
passes,  by  way  of  its  dendron  and  dendrites,  into  one  or  more 
"  connector  neurones  "  that  lie  entirely  within  the  spinal 
cord.  To  reach  them  it  must  cross  the  separating  surfaces 
or  "  synapses  "  that  break  the  anatomical  continuity  of  the 
nervous  path.  The  synapses  are  the  seat  of  a  varying  resist- 
ance, at  present  little  understood  though  of  supreme  impor- 
tance, and  serve  as  valves  which  permit  the  current  to  flow 
from  neurone  to  neurone  only  in  the  "  forward  "  direction. 
Within  the  cord  it  may  pass  from  one  connector  neurone  to 
another,  across  the  synapses,  along  a  vast  variety  of  paths. 
To  awaken  consciousness,  it  must  make  its  way  upward  to 
that  expansion  of  the  cord  which  we  call  the  brain ;  to  produce 
movement,  it  must  issue  from  the  cord  along  neurones  of  a 
third  type,  called  "  efferent,"  "  motor,"  or  "  effector."  The 
cell-bodies  of  these  neurones  lie  within  the  cord,  and  their 
axons,  leaving  the  cord  by  its  "  anterior  roots,"  take  their 
way  towards  the  periphery  in  the  same  nerve-bundles  as 
convey  the  afferent  neurones  towards  the  cord.  Along  them 
the  nervous  current  is  distributed  to  the  muscles,  and  there 
sets  up  the  contractions  that  cause  the  movement. 

1  A  nervous  thread  or  axon  dies  if  cut  off  from  the  cell-body.    This 
fact  is  largely  utilized  in  tracing  the  course  of  a  neurone. 


16G    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

It  will  be  seen  that  every  motor  neurone  may  be  a  "  final 
common  path  "  for  currents  that  reach  it  by  endless  different 
tracks  along  the  connector-neurones  of  the  brain  and  cord; 
hence  the  possibility  of  the  infinite  variety  of  "  voluntary  " 
movements  that  may  occur  under  the  control  of  the  brain. 
But  to  complete  our  picture  we  must  note  that  most  anterior 
roots  of  the  cord  also  contain  connector-axons  which  make 
their  way  to  effector-neurones  entirely  outside  the  cord.  Since 
these  neurones  are  reached  each  by  a  current  that  arrives, 
ultimately,  along  a  single  line,  the  effects  they  excite  are  not 
subject  to  modification  by  the  will.  They  constitute,  therefore, 
an  "  involuntary  "  or  "  autonomic  "  system.  Organized  into 
three  main  groups  (separated  by  the  nerve-trunks  from  arms 
and  legs),  together  with  a  smaller  group  in  the  head,  their 
function  is  to  control  the  flow  of  the  blood,  the  digestive  move- 
ments of  the  intestines,  and  the  excretory  organs,  and  to  bring 
about  the  automatic  adjustments  of  the  eyes.  In  addition, 
there  seem  to  be  effector-neurones,  associated  with  each  main 
group  of  the  autonomic  system,  which  control  the  secretion 
of  the  sweat-glands  in  the  skin,  the  digestive  glands,  etc. 

To  return  to  the  scratching  puppy.  When  the  nervous 
currents  set  up  by  the  patting  reach  the  cord,  they  must 
find  tracks  of  low  resistance  already  prepared,  along  which 
to  flow  through  the  connector-neurones  to  the  effector- 
neurones  of  the  leg ;  for  it  is  otherwise  impossible  to  see  why 
the  stimulation  is  followed  by  scratching  rather  than  by  any 
other  movement  of  body  or  limbs.  Physiologists  use  the 
term  "  reflex  system  "  to  describe  this  innate  connection 
between  a  group  of  receptor  and  a  group  of  effector  neurones. 
In  some  reflexes — for  example,  the  "  knee-jerk, "  or  the  blink- 
ing reflex  that  is  released  when  an  object  suddenly  approaches 
the  eye — the  mechanism  is  relatively  simple;  in  others  it  is 
exceedingly  complicated.  For  instance,  the  puppy's  scratch- 
reflex  must  contain  arrangements  to  secure  not  merely  simple 
movements,  but  rhythmic  contractions  of  the  "  antagonistic  " 


MECHANISM  OF  KNOWLEDGE  AND  ACTION     167 

muscles  that  cause  backward  and  forward  movements  of 
the  leg. 

But  though  a  current  takes  more  readily  paths  innately 
prepared,  it  is  by  no  means  confined  to  them.  Let  the  reader 
lay  his  arm,  with  palm  upwards,  on  a  table,  and  proceed  to 
lift,  at  intervals  of  a  second  or  less,  a  weight  suspended  from 
a  finger  by  a  string.  He  will  find  that  the  movement,  at 
first  confined  to  the  relevant  finger,  will  spread  to  the  other 
fingers,  then  to  the  muscles  of  the  lower  arm  and  finally  to  the 
whole  arm  and  shoulder.  In  this  experiment,  due  to  Dr. 
McDougall,  we  must  suppose  that  fatigue  gradually  raised 
the  resistance  of  the  synapses  along  the  original  reflex  path, 
and  that  the  current  then  began  to  overflow  into  neighbouring 
paths,  spreading  ever  wider  as  the  resistance  of  these  paths  also 
rose.1  The  gradual  consolidation  of  a  movement  learnt  by 
trial  and  error  (p.  45)  shows  the  opposite  process;  the  resist- 
ances along  the  relevant  paths  become  so  much  reduced,  by 
successful  practice,  that  we  have  finally  what  psychologists 
aptly  term  a  "  secondary  reflex." 

The  first  movements  of  all  animals  with  a  nervous  system 
are  reflexes,  and  reflexes  form  the  basis  of  all  the  skilled 
movements  they  can  acquire.  Strictly  speaking,  for  instance, 
a  bird  does  not  learn  to  peck,  and  can  fly,  without  previous 
training,  as  soon  as  its  wings  and  the  correlated  nervous 
mechanism  have  developed  to  the  proper  point.  Similarly, 
an  infant  is  born  in  vigorous  possession  of  the  sucking  reflex, 
and  discloses  others  as  his  nervous  system  ripens.  At  first  he 
is  contented  to  lie  supine,  but  a  moment  comes  when  nothing 
can  prevent  him  from  sitting  up.  Later,  he  will  propel 
himself  rapidly  across  a  floor  by  means  of  his  arms,  though 
he  has  never  seen  his  parents  use  that  undignified  mode  of 
progression.    Later  still,  he  stands  erect  and  walks — generally, 

1  McDougall,  "Fatigue"  (Report  of  British  Association,  1908).  Dr. 
McDougall  explains  in  the  same  way  the  progress  of  intoxication  from  the 
liveliness  produced  by  the  first  glass  to  the  topar's  final  collapse  beneath  the 
table.     (Cf.  p.  75.) 


168    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

it  is  true,  with  the  officious  assistance  of  admiring  elders, 
but  really  in  virtue  of  his  walking-reflex.  Subsequent 
achievements  are  made  possible  by  the  synthesis  of  the 
primary  reflexes  into  larger  systems. 

The  way  in  which  this  synthesis  is  brought  about  has  been 
described  earlier  (p.  120),  and  has,  as  regards  certain  forms  of 
skilled  performance,  been  made  the  subject  of  careful  experi- 
ments. Of  these  the  experiments  of  Professor  W.  F.  Book 
on  typewriting  are  particularly  instructive.1  Book  recorded 
graphically  the  rate  of  work  of  each  learner,  and  found  that 
the  curves  showed  typical  waves  (c/.  p.  147),  corresponding 
to  definite  stages  in  the  synthesis  of  the  reflexes.  The  first 
stage  is  the  learning  of  correct  letter-habits — that  is,  of  secon- 
dary reflexes  which,  at  the  moment  the  typing  of  a  letter  is 
willed,  carry  the  right  finger  automatically  to  the  right  key. 
As  these  habits  are  acquired,  the  rate  quickens,  and  the 
graphic  record  climbs  upward.  Soon,  however,  there  comes 
a  "  plateau  "  showing  a  temporary  arrest  in  the  increase  of 
speed,  followed  shortly  by  another  rise.  The  interpretation 
is  that  the  original  letter-habits  are  being  gathered  up  into 
syllable  and  word  habits,  in  which  the  series  of  movements 
needed  to  type  a  syllable  or  a  word  are  released  by  a  single 
impulse.  While  these  wider  reflex-system3  are  forming, 
the  partial  withdrawal  of  attention  from  the  individual  letters 
causes  errors  and  delay.  It  is,  however,  noteworthy  that 
the  letter-habits  themselves  become  perfected  only  through 
the  formation  of  the  higher  habits.  Later,  there  may  be  a 
plateau  corresponding  to  the  emergence  of  phrase-habits; 
but  it  is  naturally  less  definite  and  may  be  absent.  During 
the  whole  process,  imagery  of  several  kinds  plays  an  impor- 
tant part;  though,  as  skill  increases,  it  tends  to  drop  out  and 
to  leave  the  impulse  to  write  a  word  or  phrase  to  be  followed 
directly  by  the  required  movements.    It  is  probably  for  that 

1  "The  Psychology  of  Skill"  (University  of  Mod  tana  Publications  in 
Psychology,  1908). 


MECHANISM  OF  KNOWLEDGE  AND  ACTION      169 

reason  that  the  best  results  are  obtained  by  learners  who  adopt 
the  "  touch  method  "  from  the  beginning,  instead  of  the 
"  sight  method  "  in  which  the  fingers  are  guided  to  the  keys 
by  the  eye.  It  is  possible,  further,  that  we  have  here  a  justi- 
fication of  Dr.  Montessori's  practice  of  teaching  children  the 
forms  of  letters  kinsesthetically  instead  of  visually,  by  making 
them  run  thftii  fingers  round  sand-papered  letters  and  draw 
the  shapes  blindfolded. 

The  general  bearing  of  these  results  on  teaching  hand- 
writing has  been  questioned  but  seems  clear.  Some  teachers 
would  begin  with  the  word  as  the  smallest  unit  that  has 
meaning ;  but  we  see  that  if  legible  and  beautiful  writing1  is 
to  be  learnt,  the  child  should  first  establish  the  habits  of  lowest 
order.  There  is  no  reason  why  a  "  play-way,"  such  as  Dr. 
Montessori's,  or  more  ancient  nursery  ways,  should  not  be 
used  to  give  isolated  letters  sufficient  meaning.  Book's 
results  warn  us,  however,  (i.)  that  the  child  should  be  allowed 
to  advance  spontaneously  from  single  letters  to  words,  and 
(ii.)  that  these  should  be  words  that  he  can  already  read  with 
ease.  On  the  whole,  a  "  phonic  "  method,  in  which  the  child 
learns  to  construct  words  to  match  their  sounds,  by  putting 
movable  letters  together,  and  afterwards  writes  them,  seems 
to  be  indicated. 

Such  a  method  implies  teaching  reading  and  writing  in 
close  association  and  with  letters  of  the  same  form.  Learning 
to  read  involves,  in  fact,  building  up  recognition-habits  of 
increasing  complexity  corresponding  to  the  increasingly 
complex  movement-habits  of  writing;  so  that  a  child's 
progress  in  the  sister-arts  should  illustrate  the  principles  laid 
down  in  the  first  two  paragraphs  of  this  chapter.  If  one 
stands  behind  an  expert  reader,  holding  a  small  mirror  near 
his  eye,  it  is  easy  to  observe  that  the  eye  does  not  move  contin- 
uously along  the  line,  but  covers  the  space  in  from  three  to 

1  E.g.,  the  modified  mediaeval  script  which  now  threatens   to  displace 
the  ugly  and  featureless  modern  forms. 


170    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

five  jerks  separated  by  momentary  rests.  It  is  during  the 
rests  that  the  recognition  takes  place,  a  logically  connected 
word-group  being  "  taken  in  "  at  each  momentary  glance.1 
Thus  the  normal  object  of  an  expert's  recognition-habit  is  a 
phrase.  To  this  position  children  must  be  led  through  lower 
recognition-habits,  due  place  being  given  to  the  law  that  a 
lower  habit  is  perfected  only  as  one  passes  on  to  the  next 
higher.2 

Cognition,  as  we  have  said,  begins  in  the  senses.  In 
addition  to  the  anciently  recognized  "  five  gateways  of  know- 
ledge," we  must  take  account  (i.)  of  the  temperature  and  pain- 
senses  whose  receptors  are  in  the  skin ;  (ii.)  of  the  senses  whose 
receptors  are  in  the  digestive  and  other  inner  organs,  where 
their  stimulation  causes  hunger  and  thirst,  the  well-being 
of  health  and  the  distress  of  illness,  together  with  other 
vague  sensations  that  are  closely  connected  with  our  sense  of 
personal  identity  ;  (iii.)  of  the  kinesthetic  sense,  by  which  we 
are  kept  aware  of  the  position  and  movements  of  the  head, 
trunk  and  limbs.  The  kinesthetic  sense  has,  in  addition  to 
receptors  in  the  joints,  tendons  and  muscles,  a  highly  impor- 
tant group  in  the  labyrinth — a  curious  organ,  deeply  concealed 
within  the  ear.  These  are  concerned  not  only  in  movements 
of  head  and  eyes,  but  also  in  the  initiation  of  a  continuous 
series  of  reflexes  which  keep  the  body  normally  in  a  vertical 
position,  and  maintain  the  "tone"  of  the  leg  and  trunk 
muscles  by  whose  constant  activity  is  made  possible  the 

1  See  Huey,  "  The  Psychology  and  Pedagogy  of  Reading,"  for  accounts  of 
more  precise  experiments. 

3  It  should  be  unnecessary  to  point  out  that  reading  should  at  all  stages 
be  meaningful,  but  this  elementary  principle  is  often  neglected  where  chil- 
dren are  taught  in  large  classes.  One  comes  across  children  who  can  "  read 
almost  anything,"  but  are  yet  quite  unaware  that  the  printed  words  convey 
meaning.  The  remedy  is,  once  more,  the  "  play-way."  The  child  should  be 
given  "secret"  instructions  in  writing  which  he  is  to  read  and  carry  out, 
etc.  Even  older  pupils,  who  receive  little  but  oral  teaching,  often  have 
surprising  difficulty  in  gaining  information  from  books.  The  habit,  which 
is,  of  course,  the  essential  thing  in  reading,  should  be  deliberately  trained 
from  the  beginning.  It  is  carefully  to  be  distinguished  from  reading  aloud, 
which  should  be  treated  as  an  aesthetic  art  akin  to  music  and  drama. 


MECHANISM  OF  KNOWLEDGE  AND  ACTION     171 

wonderful  but  little  regarded  feat  of  keeping  upright.  Thus 
the  giddiness  of  a  waltzer  is  due  to  unusual  stimulation  of 
the  labyrinthine  receptors,1  while  the  muscular  collapse  of  a 
boxer  "  knocked  out  "  by  a  blow  on  the  point  of  the  jaw  is 
explained  by  the  shock  to  the  labyrinth  which  puts  the 
attitude-reflexes  out  of  action. 

The  sensations  that  arise  from  stimulation  of  the  receptors 
in  the  inner  organs  are  characteristically  vague  and  diffuse, 
and  tell  us  nothing  about  the  objects  that  cause  them.  This 
fact  is  painfully  well  known  to  any  sufferer  from  renal  colic 
or  appendicitis  or  even  the  "  stomach-ache  "  of  childhood. 
The  special  mark  of  the  outwardly  directed  receptor-neurones 
seems  to  be,  on  the  contrary,  that  they  do  yield  us  information 
about  the  bodies  that  awaken  their  activity.  It  is,  however, 
now  known  that  there  are  in  the  skin  two  sets  of  receptors — 
the  protopathic  and  the  epicritic — of  which  the  former  are 
closely  akin  to  the  receptors  in  the  inner  organs.  This  fact 
was  brought  clearly  to  light  by  Dr.  Henry  Head,  who  in  a 
famous  but  unpleasant  experiment  permitted  a  collaborator 
to  sever  a  nerve  trunk  supplying  a  large  area  of  his  arm  and 
hand,  and  recorded  what  happened  as  sensibility  slowly  re- 
turned. The  protopathic  neurones — no  doubt  the  more 
primitive  in  origin  as  they  are  in  function — were  the  first  to  be 
regenerated.  While  they  alone  were  active,  the  subject  had 
no  power  to  recognize  the  size,  shape,  weight,  texture  or 
spatial  position  of  the  bodies  he  touched.  A  pin-prick  caused 
diffused  pain,  but  no  awareness  that  it  was  due  to  an 
external  object,  while  rhythmic  stimuli  of  any  kind  were  felt 
as  continuous.  In  a  word,  all  that  constitutes  the  objectivity, 
the  spatial  and  temporal  order,  the  quantitative  as  dis- 
tinguished from  the  qualitative  aspects  of  sense-experience, 
returned  only  with  the  regeneration  of  the  epicritic  neurones. 

As  the  reader  may  surmise,  the  two  sets  of  sensory  neurones 

1  The  odd  behaviour  of  the  "waltzing  rat"  appears  to  be  due  to  an 
hereditary  peculiarity  in  the  labyrinthine  structure. 


172    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

have  different  destinations  in  the  brain.  The  protopathic 
neurones  deliver  their  nervous  currents  in  the  optic  thalamus 
— a  nervous  mass  in  the  floor  of  the  brain — while  the  epicritic 
neurones  carry  theirs  upwards  to  the  cerebral  cortex,  whose 
enormous  development  in  man  distinguishes  him,  anatomi- 
cally, more  than  anything  else,  from  the  lower  animals.  The 
difference  in  the  sensations  mediated  by  these  "  two  great 
receptive  centres  "  is  reflected  in  the  character  of  the  reflex 
movements  they  control.  The  reflexes  of  the  protopathic 
system  have  the  same  diffuse,  "  all  or  none  "  character  as  its 
sensibility;  for  instance,  the  merely  protopathic  arm  must 
withdraw  when  strongly  stimulated  by  heat  or  pain;1  but 
reflexes  involving  the  epicritic  mechanism  are  subject  to  the 
most  delicate  gradation  and  the  widest  variation.  Thus  we 
reach  the  idea  of  the  cortex  as  the  grand  instrument  of  organ- 
ization and  control ;  the  means  by  which  we  win,  on  the  sen- 
sory side,  our  vision  and  understanding  of  an  orderly  objective 
world  spread  out  in  space  and  time,  and,  on  the  motor  side, 
the  power  of  endlessly  adjustable  behaviour  and  creative  skill. 
Much  of  what  we  have  now  discovered  may  be  summed 
up  in  Professor  C.  S.  Sherrington's  dictum  that  the  nervous 
system  is  an  integrating  mechanism,  and  the  cerebral 
cortex  the  supreme  integrating  organ.  But  this  statement 
must  be  supplemented  by  the  equally  important  remark  that 
the  nervous  system  is  also  an  analyzing  mechanism,  and  that 
its  highest  analytic  functions  are  performed  by  means  of 
the  cortex.  An  animal  with  no  nervous  system  or  with  only 
a  simple  one  can  have  at  best  but  a  rudimentary  awareness 
of  the  world  and  of  itself.  To  gain  more  it  must  be  able  to 
pick  out  and  distinguish  the  different  elements  and  qualities 
of  which  the  world  is  composed.  That  feat  is  made  possible 
for  higher  animals  by  the  enormous  development  of  the 
receptor-system,  with  its  organs  differentiated  to  deal,  some 

1  Or  the  subject  mu3t  react  in  some  other  violent  way,  as  by  kicking  or 
screaming. 


MECHANISM  OF  KNOWLEDGE  AND  ACTION     173 

with  light,  some  with  sound,  and  so  on.  Similarly,  a  high 
development  of  action  is  possible  only  where  there  is  a  motor 
system  which  enables  an  animal  to  achieve  a  great  variety 
of  distinct  movements.  Thus  the  function  of  the  nervous 
system  is  never  purely  integrative  nor  purely  analytic,  but 
always  analytico-synthetic.  And  this  two-fold  nature  of  its 
activity  appears  equally  in  cognition  and  in  action. 

We  must  presently  study  it  in  cognition  in  some  detail; 
but  before  we  do  so  it  will  be  convenient  to  offer  some  remarks 
on  a  specially  important  type  of  behaviour  in  which  the 
integrative  function  appears  at  its  highest.  We  speak  of  will. 
In  the  popular  view,  will  is  a  distinct  power,  possessed  by 
different  people  in  different  degrees,  which  is  brought  on  the 
scene  to  carry  out  one's  actions  or  to  break  down  resistance 
to  them.1  The  mistake  here  is  in  thinking  that  will  is  a 
special  power  separate  from  the  energy  expressed  in  one's 
other  activities.  The  power  by  which  I  make  and  ensue 
a  momentous  decision  is  the  same  as  the  power  by  which  I 
pick  up  a  pin  or  tie  my  shoe-lace  while  conversing ;  what  is 
different  is  the  organization  that  lies  behind  the  acts .  Accord- 
ing to  Dr.  McDougall,  will  always  involves  the  activity  of  the 
self-regarding  sentiment  (p.  156),  in  which  case  we  must, 
apparently,  deny  it  to  all  animals  but  man ;  but  whether  we 
do  or  do  not  accept  such  a  limitation,  we  must  agree  that  an 
act,  to  be  properly  called  an  act  of  will,  must  draw  its  energy 
not  from  a  small  part  of  our  nature,  but  from  some  massive, 
deep-rooted,  widely  inclusive  engram-complex.  Thus  if  pick- 
ing up  a  pin  expresses  merely  a  habit  of  tidiness,  it  is  not 
an  act  of  will ;  but  if  my  right  to  pick  it  up  is  challenged,  or 
if  the  pin  is  in  a  dangerous  or  inaccessible  position,  my  self- 
regarding  sentiment  may  be  brought  into  play,  and  the  act 
will  then  be  unquestionably  an  act  of  will. 

1  It  is  just  to  say  that  something  like  this  view  appears  to  be  advocated 
by  Dr.  N.  Ach,  who  has  studied  will  experimentally  with  great  care.  (See 
p.  176.) 


174     EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

From  this  account  it  should  be  clear  that  there  can  be  no 
"  training  of  the  will "  apart  from  the  general  process  by  which 
the  sentiments  are  built  up.  Hence  Dr.  Montessori  is  right 
in  maintaining  that  to  train  a  child's  will  we  must  begin 
by  leaving  him  free  to  work  out  his  own  impulses.  For  if  he 
is  constantly  checked  or  constantly  acts  only  on  the  directions 
of  another,  there  can  be  no  building  up  of  strong  sentiments 
to  be  the  basis  of  effective  and  well-regulated  conduct.  His 
earlier  sentiments  will  be  choked  with  inhibitions  preventing 
natural  action,  and,  in  conformity  with  Shand's  law  (p.  146), 
will  tend  to  pass  their  unsatisfactory  quality  on  to  all  later 
sentiments.  Thus  we  shall  produce  in  the  end  a  man  who 
has  never  learnt  to  act  from  a  wide  and  firmly  organized 
inner  basis ;  a  man  who  will  at  one  time  face  a  critical  situation 
in  hopeless  indecision,  at  another  will  break  out  in  childish 
and  inconsequent  action. 

The  popular  view  has,  nevertheless,  a  certain  basis  in  fact. 
People  differ  immensely  in  native  energy,  and  this  difference 
comes  out  most  markedly  in  the  highly  organized  behaviour 
of  will.  Moreover,  there  are  important  differences  in  the 
way  in  which,  in  different  persons,  feeling  is  awakened  by 
cognition  and  passes  into  action.  From  this  point  of  view 
James  distinguished  between  the  "  explosive  "  type  of  will 
in  which  an  idea  captures  feeling  and  instantly  issues  into 
action,  and  the  '*  obstructed  "  type,  in  which  action  is  delayed 
by  inhibitions.  Dr.  N.  Ach  has  carried  the  analysis  a  good 
deal  farther,  bringing  it  into  relation  with  the  doctrine  of 
"  temperaments."  To  the  four  temperaments  or  "  humours  " 
anciently  distinguished  as  the  sanguine,  the  choleric,  the 
phlegmatic  and  the  melancholic,  he  adds  a  fifth,the  "cautious  " 
(besonnen).  The  cautious,  sanguine  and  choleric  tempera- 
ments have  in  common  a  high  sensitiveness  to  outward  events 
and  influences,  together  with  a  strong  motor  tendency;  while 
the  phlegmatic  and  melancholic  temperaments  are  alike  in 
lacking  these  qualities.    Comparing  them  from  the  standpoint 


MECHANISM  OF  KNOWLEDGE  AND  ACTION     175 

of  will,  we  find  that  in  both  the  cautious  and  the  phlegmatic 
temperaments  the  determining  tendencies  that  set  and  main- 
tain the  direction  taken  by  the  action  are  not  only  very  strong 
at  the  outset  but  also  preserve  their  force  with  little  diminution 
throughout  its  course.  The  sensitiveness  and  alertness  of 
the  cautious  person  make  him  welcome  action,  and  give  him 
a  certain  mobility  and  adaptiveness  during  its  progress;  the 
phlegmatic  person,  on  the  other  hand,  is  slow  to  move,  but 
when  moved,  "  sets  his  teeth  "  and  ploughs  his  way  imper- 
turbably  to  the  end.  The  sanguine  person,  sensitive  and  lively 
like  the  cautious,  embraces  opportunities  of  action  with  equal 
readiness  and  sets  out  with  the  same  strong  determining  ten- 
dencies. But  the  strength  of  the  tendency  soon  falls  away,  so 
that  he  often  fails  to  carry  the  matter  through.  Nevertheless, 
his  optimism  makes  him  rapidly  forget  failure,  and  he  is  ready 
to  embark  on  the  next  enterprise  with  the  same  easyconfidence. 
In  distinction  from  these  three  types,  neither  the  choleric 
nor  the  melancholic  temperament  is  capable  of  strong  deter- 
mining tendencies.  The  choleric  person,  however,  cannot 
"  keep  out  of  things,"  and  though  often  checked  by  failure 
due  to  lack  of  concentrated  effort,  is  by  his  sensitiveness 
spurred  on  to  fresh  exertions,  and  so  generally  "  muddles 
through  somehow."  The  melancholic  person  shares  the 
weakness  of  the  choleric  without  his  compensating  liveliness 
of  sense  and  movement.  Thus  he  is  both  ineffective  and 
apathetic,  capable  neither  of  a  strong  original  effort  nor  of 
being  sufficiently  stung  by  failure  to  achieve  success  in  the 
end. 

Some  psycho-analysts  hold  that,  like  the  difference  be- 
tween the  "  introvert  "  and  the  "  extrovert  "  to  which  they 
partially  correspond  (p.  145),  these  differences  are  set  up  in  in- 
fancy.1 On  the  other  hand,  they  may  be,  as  is  more  generally 
believed,  factors  in  original  endowment.  In  either  case  they 
are,  by  the  school  age,  characters  which  are  alterable  with 

1  See  E.  Jones,  "Papers  on  Psycho-Analysis,"  2nd  ed.,  ch.  zl. 


176     EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

difficulty,  if  at  all,  and  when  present  in  a  marked  degree, 
must  be  taken  carefully  into  account  in  the  management  of 
children.  Having  stated  the  conditions  of  the  problems 
they  present,  we  must  leave  the  reader  to  consider  the 
solutions. 


NOTES  ON  BOOKS,  ETC. 

C.  S.  Sherrington,  "The  Integrative  Action  of  the  Nervous  System" 
(Scribners,  1906),  is  the  standard  work  on  reflex  action.  W.  H.  Gaskeix, 
"The  Involuntary  Nervous  System"  (Longmans,  1916),  gives  the  present 
state  of  knowledge  of  the  autonomic  system.  A  brief  account  of  Head's 
experiment  is  given  in  C.  S.  Myers,  "An  Introduction  to  Experimental 
Psychology"  (Cambridge  Manuals  of  Science  and  Lit.,  1911),  while  H.  Head 
has  himself  given  a  non-technical  exposition  on  "  Problems  of  Science  and 
Philosophy"  (Aristotelian  Society  Supplement,  vol.  ii.,  Williams  and  Norgate, 
1919).  N.  Ach's  scheme  of  temperaments  is  quoted  from  his  interesting 
lecture  "Ueber  den  Willen"  (Leipzig,  Quelle  and  Meyer,  1910).  His 
longer  work,  "  Willenstatigkeit  und  das  Denken"  (Gottingen,  Vander- 
hoeck  and  Ruprecht,  1905),  deals  fully  with  "  determining  tendencies." 
E.  B.  Holt,  "  The  Freudian  Wish  "  (Fisher  Unwin,  1915),  deals  very  interest- 
ingly with  the  "  behaviourist "  view  of  will,  etc.  For  Seguin  see  H.  Holman, 
"Seguin  and  the  Physiological  Methods  of  Education"  (Pitman,  1914). 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE   DEVELOPMENT  OP  KNOWLEDGE 

It  is  hardly  possible  to  date  or  to  describe  the  beginnings  of 
a  child's  mental  life,  but  it  is  likely  enough  that  at  birth  the 
world  is  for  him,  as  James  said,  "  a  big,  blooming,  buzzing 
confusion."  His  appetites  and  bodily  needs  and  his  dawning 
instincts  determine  the  points  at  which  he  attacks  this  con- 
fusion and  begins  the  long  task  of  clearing  it  up,  while  his 
reflexes  are,  so  to  speak,  the  tools  he  uses.  Passing  by  the 
earliest  days, let  us  suppose  a  child  old  enough  to  "take  notice," 
and  let  that  notice,  motived  by  the  instinct  of  curiosity, 
fasten,  say,  upon  a  bright  silver  spoon.  We  all  know  what 
will  happen;  how  watching,  stretching,  grasping,  carrying 
reflexes  will  be  set  in  motion  until,  after  some  "  trial  and  error," 
the  spoon  is  conveyed  to  the  child's  mouth.  The  reader  will 
not  fail  to  note  that  the  analytic  and  synthetic  powers  of 
which  we  spoke  in  the  last  chapter  are  brought  into  play 
from  the  first  moment  of  this  incident.  For,  in  the  first  place, 
the  infant  picks  out  the  brightness  of  the  spoon  from  its  less 
attractive  surroundings,  and,  in  the  second  place,  the  mere 
perception  of  it  as  an  object  outside  himself,  more  or  less 
definitely  shaped  and  placed,implies,  as  we  saw,a  considerable 
piece  of  organizing  work  performed  by  means  of  his  cerebral 
cortex.    But  let  us  proceed. 

Next  day  the  spoon  comes  again  within  his  ken.  He 
perceives  it  with  obvious  pleasure,  and  carries  it  once  more 
to  his  mouth  with  a  dexterity  much  increased  by  yesterday's 
successful  effort.    His  behaviour  leaves  no  doubt  that  his 

177  12 


178    EDUCATION;  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

cognitive  "  attitude  "  towards  the  spoon  is  not  what  it  was 
at  first ;  but  in  what  respects  is  it  different  ?  All  that  we  can 
safely  assert  is  that,  as  the  child  now  contemplates  the  spoon, 
its  appearance  is  "  complicated  "  or  coloured  by  references 
to  yesterday's  experience,  so  that  while  the  same  it  is  yet  not 
the  same.  The  perceived  shape  and  brightness,  the  cool 
feeling  when  the  metal  was  grasped,  the  stretching,  gripping 
and  carrying,  the  triumph  that  attended  the  success  of  those 
operations,  and  lastly  the  delight  of  pressing  a  cold,  hard 
body  between  the  gums:  all  these  items  were,  by  the  infant's 
analytico-synthetic  activity,  singled  out  and  integrated  into 
a  unitary  experience  with  a  definite  and  coherent  form; 
and  when  the  spoon  is  again  seen,  the  seeing  takes  place 
through  the  activity  of  the  engram-complex  in  which  that 
form  was  registered.  In  accordance  with  the  general  law 
(p.  53),  much,  perhaps  most,  of  the  activity  of  the  complex 
remains  below  the  level  of  clear  consciousness;  but  it  does 
not  fail  to  produce  definite  effects  above  that  level.  Thus 
the  "  sense  of  familiarity  "  the  babe  enjoys  at  the  second 
sight  of  the  spoon  may  be  referred  to  the  fact  that,  having 
dealt  with  the  object  successfully  before,  he  feels  ready  to 
react  again ;  in  other  words,  it  probably  consists  (i.)  in  incipient 
tendencies,  vaguely  apprehended,  to  repeat  the  former 
movements,  (ii.)  in  a  revival  of  the  feeling  of  successful  self- 
assertion  that  attended  them,  and,  in  addition,  (iii.)  in  some 
revival  of  the  pleasure  experienced  when  the  spoon  lay  in  his 
mouth.  These  elements  fuse  with  the  appearance  of  the  spoon 
and  give  it  its  new  character ;  in  the  usual  language  of  psy- 
chologists, they  give  it  its  meaning. 

Some  time  later  his  mother  records  proudly  that  baby 
has  shown  keen  interest  in  a  large  wooden  spoon  lying  on  the 
kitchen  table,  and  seemed  to  prove  by  his  behaviour  that  he 
classed  the  novel  object  with  the  familiar  silver  one.  This 
feat  implies  a  much  higher  exercise  of  analytico-synthetic 
power.    For  it  implies  (i.)  that  the  numerous  shapes  presented 


THE  DEVELOPMENT  OF  KNOWLEDGE       179 

by  the  silver  spoon,  when  held  in  different  positions,  have  been 
registered  as  a  distinct  subordinate  organization  within  the 
"spoon-complex,"  (ii.)  that  the  similarly  varying  shapes  of 
the  wooden  spoon  can  also  awaken  the  activity  of  this  organ- 
ization, although  there  is  no  other  resemblance  between  the 
two  objects,  and  (iii.)  that  the  activity  thus  awakened  carries 
with  it  enough  activity  of  the  spoon-complex  as  a  whole  to 
secure  some  degree  of  recognition.  The  qualification  "  some  " 
is  important;  for  the  child's  cognitive  attitude  towards  the 
wooden  spoon  cannot  be  precisely  foreseen.  It  may  corre- 
spond to  the  thought  "  I  have  seen  something  like  this  before," 
or  to  "  This,  I  feel  sure,  is  a  spoon,  though  I  do  not  know 
why,"  or  to  "  This  must  be  a  spoon,  for  though  very  different 
from  the  silver  spoon,  it  has  the  same  shape."1 

We  may  summarize  what  we  have  just  said  by  the  state- 
ment that  the  child  is  able  to  abstract  the  shape  from  the  other 
qualities  of  the  spoon,  though  he  need  not,  in  a  given  case,  be 
aware  that  he  has  done  so.  The  part  here  ascribed  to  abstrac- 
tion in  the  perception  and  recognition  of  objects  has  been 
illuminated  by  some  interesting  experiments  of  Dr.  T.  V. 
Moore.2  Moore  exhibited  to  his  subjects  a  series  of  rows  of 
fanciful  figures,  each  row,  after  a  very  brief  exposure,  being 
replaced  by  another.  All  the  figures  were  different,  with  the 
exception  that  one  of  them  occurred  in  varying  positions  in 
every  row.  The  subject  was  to  indicate  when  he  recognized 
clearly  that  the  same  figure  had  occurred  more  than  once, 
and  was  then  to  give  an  account  of  his  states  of  mind  during 
the  experiment.  The  results  showed  that  the  perception  of 
the  common  figure  passed  through  several  stages.  There 
came  first  a  mere  awareness  that  some  sort  of  figure  had  been 
repeated ;  then  a  more  or  less  vague  apprehension  of  its  shape 

1  The  infant  cannot,  of  course,  think  these  thoughts;  but  the  different 
cognitive  attitudes  possible  have  to  one  another  the  same  relations  as  these 
thoughts  have. 

a  "The  Process  of  Abstraction"  (University  of  California  Publications  in 
Psychology,  vol.  L,  No.  2,  1910). 


180     EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

as  (for  instance)  circular  or  pointed;  thirdly,  a  correct  idea 
of  the  shape, but  with  doubt  or  error  as  to  the  orientation; 
lastly,  a  true  knowledge  of  its  position  as  well  as  of  its 
shape. 

Dr.  Moore  concluded  that  in  visual  perception  the  material 
before  the  sense  is  organized  under  "  mental  categories,"  of 
which  some  may  be  of  the  utmost  generality  and  vagueness, 
others  more  specific  and  precise.  We  may  speak  of  them 
as  "concepts,"  or,  following  Mr.  H.  Sturt  (p.  194),  as  "pat- 
terns "  or  "schemas  ";  but  whatever  name  we  give  them, 
we  must  think  of  them  not  as  passive,  but  as  active  things, 
which  direct  and  govern  apprehension  just  as  determining 
tendencies  direct  and  govern  action.  Indeed,  it  is  evident 
that  there  can  be  no  determining  tendency  which  does  not 
include  in  itself  a  pattern  or  schema  of  the  action  to  which  it 
prompts.  And  it  will  be  noted  that  a  schema,  like  a  deter- 
mining tendency,  is  the  activity  of  a  complex  which  does 
much  of  its  work  in  the  unconscious. 

Most  of  the  active  concepts  or  patterns  with  which  our 
minds  are  filled  have  been  derived  by  abstraction  from 
experience,  but  some  must  be  regarded  as  innate.  For 
example,  there  is  in  all  human  beings  a  tendency  to  build 
their  perceptual  experience  into  an  outer  world  of  separate 
"  things,"  moving  and  acting  upon  one  another  in  space  and 
time.  Here  the  categories  are  of  the  widest  generality.  On 
the  other  hand,  instincts1  in  animals  and  sometimes  in  man 
seem  to  contain  schemas  of  a  much  more  detailed  character, 
as  in  the  case  of  the  bird  that  builds  its  nest  according  to  the 
ancestral  pattern.  The  number  and  nature  of  racial  concepts 
lying  between  these  limits  is  not  easily  determined.  Dr. 
C.  G.  Jung  points  to  the  curious  uniformities  in  the  myths 
of  primitive  peoples,  and  holds  that  these  express  "  arche- 
types "  or  racial  categories  "  which  coerce  intuition  and  appre- 

1  Instincts  may,  of  course,  be  thought  of  as  innate  determining  ten- 
dencies. 


THE  DEVELOPMENT  OF  KNOWLEDGE        181 

hension  to  forms  specifically  human."1  His  view  may  be 
pressed  too  far,  but  it  is  clear  that  our  power  of  seeing  and 
understanding  the  world  around  us  depends  upon  a  power  to 
read  "  patterns  "  into  it,  and  it  seems  equally  clear  that 
some  of  these  must  be  archetypal  in  Jung's  sense,  though 
they  multiply  greatly  in  the  course  of  experience.  Thus  a 
doctor  can  diagnose  a  new  case  of  illness,  an  engineer  can  see 
how  a  new  machine  works,  a  policeman  can  smooth  out  a 
difficult  tangle  in  the  traffic,  because  their  experience  has 
provided  them  with  categories,  concepts,  or  schemas  by  means 
of  which  they  can  "  take  hold  of  "  the  situation  before  them. 
And,  as  we  all  know,  this  power  often  works  by  means  of 
which  the  expert  can  himself  give  but  an  inadequate  account;2 
for  it  consists  mainly  in  the  activity  of  complexes  below  the 
conscious  level. 

In  considering  perception  it  is  natural  to  give  a  large 
place  to  the  facts  of  vision;  but  what  we  have  said  applies 
throughout  the  whole  realm  of  the  senses.  It  is  evident,  for 
instance,  that  to  hear  a  melody  is  to  grasp  the  musical  pattern 
or  schema  that  the  notes  express,  and  that  when  we  recognize 
it  from  the  opening  phrases  or  played  in  a  different  key,  we 
do  so  in  virtue  of  the  pattern  registered  as  a  subordinate 
organization  in  the  original  engram-complex.  Similarly,  in 
the  recognition  of  a  tram-car  by  its  rumble,  a  book  by  its 
"  feel,"  an  orange  by  its  smell,  the  sensations  immediately 
before  the  mind  are  apprehended  through  the  activity  of 
concepts  or  schemas  derived  from  previous  experience.  In  the 
rumble  the  mind  reads  a  moving  tram-car ;  in  the  odour,  the 
taste  and  appearance  of  an  orange ;  just  as  in  a  printed  book 

1  Jung,  "  Instinct  and  the  Unconscious"  (Brit.  Journ.  of  Psych.,  vo!.  x., 
No.  1,  1919). 

3  As  in  the  anecdote  of  the  dyer  who  could  not  communicate  to  others 
the  secret  of  his  wonderful  power  of  mixing  dyes.  The  better  known  story 
of  the  judge  who  advised  a  junior  never  to  give  reasons  for  his  decisions, 
illustrates  the  further  truth  that  the  "rational"  account  we  give  of  our 
actions  may  be  very  discrepant  from  the  actual  activity  of  the  complexes 
from  which  they  spring. 


182     EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

it  reads  what  the  words  mean.  In  this  way  while  each  of 
us  is  imprisoned  in  the  circle  of  his  own  sensations,  we  are 
yet  freemen  of  a  common  world;  though  some,  being  blind 
or  deaf,  miss  part  of  it,  and  a  few,  like  the  blind-deaf-mute, 
Helen  Keller,  can  read  it  only  in  terms  of  the  humbler 
senses. 

Perception,  the  earliest  of  intellectual  activities,  is  the  key 
by  which  all  the  rest  may  be  understood.  Philosophers  have 
written  as  though  an  almost  impassable  gulf  sundered  the 
humble  mental  function  the  animals  share  with  us  from  the 
lofty  exercise  of  thought,  reserved  for  man  alone.  This  is 
but  a  special  case  of  a  misconception  which  we  have  already 
sought  to  correct  (pp.  17-19).  Mind  uses  at  all  its  levels  the 
twin  methods  of  analysis  and  synthesis ;  the  difference  between 
the  perceptions  of  a  dog  and  the  thoughts  of  a  sage  is  a 
difference  not  in  the  nature  of  the  process,  but  in  its  range 
and  complexity,  and  in  the  materials  with  which  it  works. 

Let  us  examine  the  main  points  of  this  difference.  We 
have  seen  that  in  ordinary  perception  the  range  of  the  cognitive 
act  often  travels  far  beyond  what  is  immediately  present  to 
the  senses :  I  hear  not  a  mere  rumble,  but  a  tram-car ;  I  see 
not  a  mere  yellow  patch,  but  an  orange.  How  far  it  may  go, 
even  in  animals,  is  shown  by  the  behaviour  of  a  dog  who, 
when  his  master  dons  a  hat,  plainly  sees  the  promise  of  a 
joyous  scamper  out  of  doors.  The  cognitive  acts  of  an 
engineer  who  grasps  the  working  of  a  machine,  of  a  farmer 
to  whom  sky  and  wind  foretell  a  change  in  the  weather,  of  a 
physician  who  reads  in  his  patient's  symptoms  the  nature  and 
probable  course  of  the  disease,  differ  from  the  dog's  chiefly 
in  using  as  its  vehicle  a  schema  whose  range  and  complexity 
is  much  greater  still.  Thus  one  mark  of  the  higher  mental 
act  is  a  higher  development  of  synthesis. 

A  second  mark  is  increased  fineness  of  analysis  or  abstrac- 
tion. An  intelligent  dog  can  discriminate  between  his  master's 
assumption  of  a  silk  hat  and  of  a  soft  hat — reading  the  latter 


THE  DEVELOPMENT  OF  KNOWLEDGE       183 

as  a  sign  that  he  is  to  be  taken  out,  the  former  that  he  is  to 
be  left  at  home ;  but  a  child's  power  of  abstraction  soon  exceeds 
the  utmost  limits  of  canine  analysis.1  For  instance,  a  child 
of  eight,  confronted  with  an  oblong,  measuring,  say,  6  inches 
by  4  inches,  and  divided  up  into  inch-squares,  can  readily 
see  by  analysis  that  the  squares  fall  into  four  rows  containing 
six  each,  and  so  learns,  without  counting,  that  the  oblong 
contains  altogether  6x4  square  inches.  Moreover,  he  can 
carry  the  analysis  to  a  stage  still  more  significant  in  its 
potentiality ;  for  he  can  see  that  the  property  he  has  discerned 
in  the  figure  before  him  must  also  belong  to  any  oblong  whose 
sides  contain  each  an  exact  number  of  inches.  In  other  words, 
he  has  the  power  of  ignoring  all  the  circumstances  that  dis- 
tinguish this  oblong  from  others,  and  of  attending  solely  to  a 
property  which,  since  it  depends  on  the  shape  alone,  must  be 
present  wherever  that  shape  is  found.  It  is  hardly  necessary 
to  point  out  that  this  higher  development  of  analytic  power  is 
the  prime  essential  in  mathematical  and  scientific  reasoning. 
In  mechanics,  for  example,  we  ignore  everything  about 
bodies,  except  the  way  they  affect  one  another's  movements; 
in  optics  we  attend  only  to  their  behaviour  towards  light; 
and  so  on. 

Side  by  side  with  the  increase  in  analytic  and  synthetic 
power,  higher  mental  acts  show  another  characteristic.  The 
intelligence  of  animals  is,  as  psychologists  say,  confined  to  the 
perceptual  level;  that  is,  they  do  not,  as  a  rule,  concern  them- 
selves with  situations  that  are  not  suggested  by  objects  or 
events  actually  before  their  senses.  To  this  rule  there  are, 
no  doubt,  exceptions.  A  dog  will  announce  by  seductive 
whimperings  that  he  would  like  a  walk,  or  may  (like  the 
author's  terrier)  make  the  hint  still  plainer  by  seeking  his 
collar  spontaneously  and  laying  it  at  his  master's  feet.    It  is, 

1  Miss  E.  M.  Smith's  little  book,  "The  Investigation  of  Mind  in 
Animals  "  (Cambridge  Press,  1915),  gives  an  interesting  account  of  experi- 
ments on  the  range  of  intellectual  power  in  animals. 


184     EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

however,  a  special  mark  of  men  that  they  constantly  concern 
themselves  with  objects  and  events  which  are  not  before 
their  senses ;  and  this  kind  of  mental  activity  is  what  we  gener- 
ally have  in  view  when  we  speak  of  thinking.  In  thinking,  the 
mind  deals  with  schemas  or  concepts  cut  loose,  so  to  speak, 
from  the  things  in  the  perceptual  world  to  which  they  belong 
— in  a  word  with  ideas. 

The  power  to  think  freely — that  is,  to  entertain  ideas 
without  the  presence  and  help  of  perceived  objects — varies 
greatly  with  the  maturity  of  the  mind,  with  its  acquired 
habits,  and  with  its  familiarity  with  the  subject-matter.  A 
child,  for  instance,  may  easily  be  led  to  find  the  general  rule 
for  calculating  the  areas  of  oblong  figures,  and  in  discovering 
it,  is  certainly  thinking.  But  it  is  equally  certain  that  he 
would  not  make  the  discovery  at  all  unless  his  ideas  were 
supported  and  their  flow  guided  bycontemplation  of  an  actual 
oblong  figure  dissected  into  squares.  His  mind  can  treat 
the  particular  figure  not  as  particular,  but  as  a  symbol  of  all 
possible  oblongs;  yet  cannot  reach  a  general  truth  about 
oblongs  except  through  contemplation  of  the  symbol.  The 
minds  of  children  and  of  ill-educated  persons  do  much  of 
their  thinking  by  the  aid  of  things  used  thus  as  symbolizing 
concepts  which  would  otherwise  elude  their  mental  grasp.1 
Even  educated  persons  of  good  intelligence  can  "  see " 
difficult  ideas  much  more  easily  when  they  are  presented  in 
concrete  symbolism,  and  there  have  been  minds  of  the  highest 
order  that  could  work  in  no  other  way.2  Here  is  the  psycho- 
logical justification  for  the  use  of  models  in  teaching  abstruse 
subjects.  Undiscerning  persons  object  to  models  on  the 
ground  that  their  use  deprives  the  pupil  of  the  stimulus  to 

i  The  reader  will  remember  that  the  clownish  Lance  ("  Two  Gentlemen 
of  Verona,"  ii.  3)  could  not  explain  the  manner  of  his  parting  with  his  family 
except  by  using  his  shoes,  his  staff,  and  his  hat  as  symbols  for  his  parents, 
his  sister  and  Nan  the  maid. 

2  E.g.,  the  great  Lord  Kelvin,  who  confessed  that  ho  could  never  accept 
the  electro-magnetic  theory  of  light  because  he  could  not  devise  a  model 
of  it. 


THE  DEVELOPMENT  OF  KNOWLEDGE       185 

employ  his  powers  of  thought  and  imagination;  but  we  see 
that,  on  the  contrary,  they  are  for  some  minds  always,  and 
for  most  minds  sometimes,  the  best  possible  means  of  stimu- 
lating activity.1 

The  use  of  pictures  and  diagrams  comes  under  the  same 
heading;  though  since  they  are  farther  from  solid  reality  than 
models,  they  are  generally  less  effective  thought-instruments. 
The  lines,  colours  or  shading  of  a  picture  or  photograph  are 
material  objects  which  the  mind  takes  not  at  their  face- value, 
but  as  symbols  by  means  of  which  it  reaches  and  holds  a 
certain  schema  or  idea  a  bout  the  things  portrayed.  Similarly, 
a  little  boy,  busy  with  his  "  meccano,"  gathers  from  a  diagram 
the  schema  for  constructing,  say,  an  elaborate  model  of  a 
travelling  crane,  and  could  not  keep  so  complicated  an  idea 
"  in  his  head  "  except  by  repeated  reference  to  the  drawing 
where  it  is  symbolized.  The  same  explanation  applies,  in 
principle,  to  the  use  of  symbols  in  algebra.  An  algebraic 
expression  is  simply  a  perceptual  object  whose  form  symbolizes 
some  particular  relation  between  numbers;  and  its  use  is 
first  to  enable  the  mathematician  to  hold  the  concept  of  this 
relation  in  mind,  and  next  to  pass  from  that  concept  to  the 
concept  of  another  relation  which  "  follows "  from  the 
former.2 

When  a  person  thinks  without  the  aid  of  any  perceptual 
object  or  symbol  to  guide  his  thoughts,  his  ideas  are  in  the 
full  sense  "  free."  All  of  us  can  deal  in  this  way  with  familiar 
objects  and  events,  recalling  the  past,  looking  into  the  future, 
or  pursuing  in  idleness  the  dreams  of  fancy ;  and  more  gifted 
and  powerful  minds  can  thus  follow  the  "  way  of  ideas  "  far 

1  See  John  Adams,  "Exposition  and  Illustration  in  Teaching"  (Mac- 
millan,  1909),  ch.  xtii. 

a  E.g.,  the  expressions  c  m  (a  +  b)(a  -  b)  and  c  =  a2  -  6s  symbolize 
two  distinct  relations  that  may  obtain  between  three  numbers;  and  the 
process  of  manipulation  called  "  multiplying  (a  +  b)  by  (o  -  6) "  is  the  means 
by  which  the  algebraist  proves  that  wherever  the  former  relation  obtains, 
the  second  one  obtains  also. 


186    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

into  remote  realms  of  abstruse  speculation.1  But  even  here 
thought  needs  the  support  and  guidance  of  images,  which, 
as  we  have  seen,  are  mental  copies  of  perceptual  objects, 
including  movements.  Visual  images,  in  particular,  being  a 
direct  transcript  of  material  objects,  play  a  very  great  part 
in  an  average  person's  thinking  and  reasoning.  Many 
descriptions  of  things  would  be  almost  unintelligible  to  most 
people  unless  they  evoked  visual  imagery,  and  many  argu- 
ments consist  essentially  in  devices  for  calling  up  more  or 
less  definite  pictures  of  the  behaviour  of  things2  (see  p.  161). 

We  have  reserved  until  last  the  most  important  of  thought- 
instruments — namely,  language.  Language  may  be  the 
vehicle  of  ideas  either  in  the  perceptual  form  of  spoken  or 
written  words,  or  in  the  subtler  guise  of  verbal  images,  visual, 
auditory  or  kinesthetic.  Its  use  is  pre-eminently  a  social 
habit,  and  is  found  in  a  rudimentary  form  wherever  animals, 
under  the  urge  of  the  gregarious  instinct,  act  together  for 
defence  and  in  pursuit  of  food.  On  a  superficial  view  it  would 
appear  that,  among  civilized  men,  words  are  purely  arbitrary 
signs  whose  meaning  is  learnt  by  association.  But  while  this 
account  is  largely  true,  it  is  not  the  whole  truth.    Psycho- 

1  The  great  Sir  W.  Hamilton,  the  inventor  of  quaternions,  is  said  often 
to  have  spent  hours  in  mathematical  thought  unaided  by  written  symbolism. 
3  The  reader  may  try  the  following  examples  upon  himself  or  a  friend. 

(a)  Description. — A  certain  "flying  top"  consists  of  three  parts:  (1)  A 
wheel  with  spokes  like  the  blades  of  an  electric  fan.  The  hub  contains  a 
small  hollow  cone  whose  point  projects  slightly  so  that  the  wheel  cannot  lie 
flat  on  a  table.  (2)  A  tube,  grooved  spirally  within  like  a  rifle-barrel,  and 
ending  in  a  cone  which  fits  into  the  hub  of  the  wheel.  (3)  A  rod,  bearing  a 
spiral  ridge  like  a  screw,  which  fits  into  the  tube.  To  start  the  top,  you  place 
the  wheel  on  a  table,  fit  the  conical  end  of  the  tube  into  the  hub,  and  ho  lding 
the  rod  upright,  pressitrapidly  down  into  the  tube  until  itreaches  the  bottom, 
when  you  instantly  withdraw  the  rod  and  tube.  The  wheel  now  rises  from 
the  table  and  flies  across  the  room. 

(b)  Argument. — B  is  a  certain  distance  north  of  A,  C  the  same  distance 
east  of  B;  therefore  C  is  north-east  of  A. 

The  study  of  such  examples  may  convince  the  reader  that  it  is  important 
in  many  lessons  to  set  oneself  deliberately  to  evoke  imagery  in  one's  pupils. 
The  teacher  who  does  not  himself  use  visual  imagery  freely  (p.  161)  often 
fails  to  keep  in  touch  with  his  hearers,  simply  because  he  and  they  are  em- 
ploying different  symbols  or  vehicles  for  their  ideas. 


THE  DEVELOPMENT  OF  KNOWLEDGE       187 

logical  causes  have  played  a  definite  role  in  the  history  of 
word-forms  and  their  meanings;  and,  in  accordance  with 
the  law  of  recapitulation  (p.  39),  repeat  their  work  at  least 
partially  in  every  child  who  learns  to  speak.  The  behaviour 
of  deaf-mutes  shows  how  natural  it  is  for  human  beings  to 
find  in  facial  movements,  pantomime  and  bodily  gestures, 
the  means  of  communicating  their  feelings,  knowledge  and 
wishes ;  and  spoken  language  is,  at  bottom,  but  a  more  delicate 
apparatus  of  the  same  kind  and  origin.  Thus  words  when 
they  are  not  emotional  (like  "oh,"  "  hush  ")  or  onomatopeic 
(like  "splash,"  "cuckoo")  seem  ultimately  to  be  oral 
gestures,  sometimes  residua  of,  or  natural  substitutes  for, 
larger  bodily  gestures,  sometimes  "  sound-metaphors "  of 
independent  origin.1  A  child  in  learning  to  speak  does  not 
repeat  the  historical  stages  that  brought  the  word  to  its 
present  form;  but  impulses  akin  to  the  original  attitude- 
and  gesture-impulses  probably  do  recur,  and  the  spoken  word 
becomes  associated  with  them  all  the  more  readily  because 
in  its  origin  it  was  itself  a  refinement  of  attitude  or  gesture. 
These  wider  impulses  sink,  in  time,  into  the  unconscious,  but 
remain  part  of  the  buried  complexes  whose  activity  gives  the 
word  its  meaning.2 

1  The  words  there — here,  you — me,  with  their  correspondents  in  a  large 
number  of  widely  diverse  languages,  seem  obviously  to  embody  respectively 
an  outwardly  and  an  inwardly  directed  oral  gesture.  The  difference  be- 
tween mamma  and  papa,  which  also  appears  in  correlated  forms  in  a  great 
many  languages,  appears  to  bo  a  sound- metaphor:  the  softer  sound 
symbolizing  the  female,  the  more  vigorous  the  male  parent  (Wundt). 
Observe,  too,  the  suggestion  of  shaking  in  such  words  as  quiver,  quagmire  ; 
of  clumsy  movement  in  flounder,  flop  ;  and  the  significance  of  the  gr  in 
grumble,  groan,  and  the  slang  word  grouse  (Pearsall  Smith).  See  references 
on  p.  194. 

We  are  told  that  there  are  African  languages  in  which  the  verbal  sym- 
bols need  to  be  supplemented  by  bodily  gesture ;  so  that  you  must,  at  night, 
talk  beside  a  fire  in  order  to  "  see  "  what  a  man  says. 

2  In  repeating  Humpty  Dumpty's  cryptic  verses  one  may  become  aware 
that  the  "mental  attitude"  expressed  by  such  words  as  "if"  and  "but" 
is  largely  a  bodily  attitude : 

And  he  was  very  proud  and  stiff ; 

He  said,  "  I'd  go  and  wake  them,  if " 

And  when  I  found  the  door  was  shut 
I  tried  to  turn  the  handle,  but ■ 


188    EDUCATION:  DATA  AMD  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

This  doctrine  is  supported  by  the  common  observation 
that  words  originally  concrete  in  meaning  tend  to  become 
abstract.  The  word  "  tend "  is  itself  an  example.  The 
Latin  tendo  originally  meant  "to  stretch,"  and  may  be 
regarded  as  a  "  vocal  gesture  "  derived  from,  or  at  least 
connected  with,  a  larger  bodily  gesture  imitative  of  stretching. 
The  use  of  the  word  and  the  gesture  became  registered  to- 
gether in  a  single  complex,so  that  when  the  word  was  employed 
alone,  it  still  had  behind  it  the  activity  of  the  whole  complex. 
When  the  need  arose  to  apprehend  the  subtler  facts  we  express 
by  "tendency,"  the  earlier  concept  of  stretching  was  used 
as  a  symbol  by  whose  aid  the  notion  could  be  apprehended 
and  communicated.  The  word  would  thus  come  to  express 
the  activity  of  a  new  complex,  but  that  complex  would  still 
contain  the  older  one  as  its  core,  and  would  derive  its  energy 
therefrom  by  "  sublimation."  In  this  way  we  can  see  how  it 
is  possible  to  understand  the  meaning  of  a  passage — such  as 
the  present  paragraph — whose  reading  evokes  little  or  no 
imagery  except,  perhaps,  auditory  echoes  of  the  words  them- 
selves. The  words  awaken  the  largely  unconscious  activity 
of  engram-complexes  which  the  synthetic  power  always 
inherent  in  mind  rapidly  organizes  into  a  complex  of  new 
form  and  wider  scope ;  and  it  is  this  complex,  growing  as  one 
reads,  which  determines  the  "  attitude  "towards  the  sentences 
wherein  our  awareness  of  their  meaning  is  felt  to  reside. 

The  tendency  to  employ  primitive  experiences  as  means 
for  grasping  and  expressing  the  significance  of  more  compli- 
cated and  subtle  facts  must  now  be  recognized  as  almost 
omnipresent  in  human  mentality.1  It  explains  the  forms 
of  myth,  ritual  and  religious  creeds,  it  runs  riot  in  dreams, 
and  may  be  said,  in  short,  to  be  the  key  to  understanding 
almost  the  whole  development  of  civilization  (p.  50).     In 

The  reader,  remembering  pp.  160-2,  will  see  that  the  meaning  of  object- 
names,  such  as  "  table,"  consists  largely  in  the  (unconscious)  schemas  of  our 
activities  connected  with  the  objects. 

1  See  E.  Jones,  "  Papers  on  Psycho- Analysis,"  2nd  ed.,  ch.  vii. 


THE  DEVELOPMENT  OF  KNOWLEDGE        189 

the  history  of  physical  science,  for  instance,  nothing  is  more 
striking  than  the  way  in  which  men  have  persistently  sought 
to  interpret  recondite  phenomena  in  terms  of  such  familiar 
things  as  bodily  exertion  ("  force,"  "  energy,"),  the  behaviour 
of  moving  bodies  ("  atoms,"  "  electrons "),  or  of  water 
("ether").1  Poetic  imagination,  following  a  different  im 
pulse,  uses  the  same  means.  The  poet  is  a  man  for  whom 
the  common  sights  and  events  of  the  world  are  symbols  of 
things  which  the  rest  of  us  could  never  find  without  his  aid. 
To  the  unimaginative  man  the  yellow  primrose  is  a  yellow 
primrose,  and  "  nothing  more."2 

The  foregoing  discussion  has  covered, in  principle,  all  forms 
of  higher  intellectual  activity.  It  is,  however,  desirable  to 
add  further  remarks  upon  two — invention  and  reasoning — 
in  which  the  creative  aspect  of  the  activity  is  especially 
prominent. 

An  act  of  invention  may  either  modify  an  existing  schema 
in  some  essential  details — a  classic  instance  is  the  act  of  the 
ingenious  lad  who,  by  attaching  strings,  made  the  steam- 
engine  he  tended  work  automatically — or  it  may  produce 
what  is  virtually  a  new  schema — as  when  Arkwright,  or  some 
predecessor,  transformed  the  spinning  wheel  into  the  spinning 
machine.  But  the  invented  schema,  however  novel,  is  never 
anything  but  a  new  synthesis  of  familiar  schemas  or  their 
components.  Bring  together  a  pumping-engine  and  a  tram- 
way-waggon, and  you  have  a  railway  locomotive;  synthesize 
the  gas-engine  with  the  road-carriage,  substituting  oil- vapour 
for  gas,  and  you  have  the  motor-car ;  and  so  on  indefinitely. 

1  T.  P.  Nunn,  "Aims  and  Achievements  of  Scientific  Method"  (Mac- 
raillan,  1906,  and  Proceedings  of  Aristotelian  Society,  1905-6). 

8  Samuel  Butler,  who  missed  no  chance  of  gilding  at  Wordsworth, 
speaks  in  his  "Alps  and  Sanctuaries"  of  "the  primrose  with  the  yellow 
brim,"  adding  "  I  quote  from  memory."  The  Rev.  C.  A.  Alington  relates 
that  ho  had  once  the  joyful  experience  of  reading  a  copy  of  the  book  in 
which  a  previous  borrower  had  written  "  No"  against  the  passage,  and  had 
entered  in  the  margin  the  correct  quotation  !  This  delicious  anecdote  is  a 
perfect  illustration  of  the  connection  between  imagination  and  humour. 


190    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

The  inventive  mind  possesses  in  a  higher  degree  the  analytic 
and  synthetic  powers  common  to  us  all.  Unlike  routine- 
bound  minds,  it  readily  separates  the  elements  of  things  from 
their  usual  contexts,  and  it  is  fertile  in  new  constructions. 
Above  all,  it  has  the  energy  that  expresses  itself  in  the  strongly 
sustained  purpose  needed  to  make  good  use  of  those  gifts. 

There  is,  in  principle,  no  difference  between  this  kind  of 
invention  and  the  invention  of  a  writer  like  Defoe,  who,  given 
a  certain  imagined  situation,  produces  in  the  adventures  of 
Robinson  Crusoe  a  plausible  synthesis  of  possible  incidents. 
The  only  distinction  is  that  the  schema  of  the  romancer  is 
for  delightful  contemplation,  not  for  use.  On  the  other  hand, 
there  is  a  substantial  difference  between  invention  and  fancy. 
For  fancy,  although,  like  invention,  it  weaves  its  schemas  out 
of  real  materials,  takes  no  heed  to  make  the  pattern  as  a  whole 
congruent  with  reality. 

Reasoning  covers  much  the  same  ground  as  invention; 
for  the  essence  of  both  lies  in  the  deliberate  search  for  a  new 
schema,  and  in  an  intention  that  it  shall  be  congruent  with 
reality.  The  lazy  boy  who  made  his  engine  function  by  itself 
must  have  seen  that  the  strings  would  "  work  ";  Defoe  saw 
that  Crusoe  could  not  have  goatskin  garments  without  the 
means  of  making  them.  Both,  then,  reasoned — that  is, 
constructed  schemas  in  which  they  believed  that  there  was 
no  element  contradicted  by  other  schemas  derived  from 
experience.  Most  of  the  reasoning  of  science — at  least  of 
non-mathematical  science — is  of  this  type.  For  instance,  a 
geologist  explains  a  fossil  by  the  hypothesis  that  it  is  the 
petrified  skeleton  of  an  extinct  animal  that  died  where  it  was 
rapidly  covered  up  by  sea-mud  or  river  silt ;  for  this  is  the  only 
schema,  congruent  with  reality,  into  which  the  facts  will  fit. 
The  reasoning  of  the  physical  sciences  differs  from  this  type 
in  two  respects.  In  the  first  place,  it  is  essentially  analytic; 
that  is,  it  does  not  consider  things  as  concrete  wholes,  but 
seeks  "  laws,"  such  as  Newton's  laws  of  motion,  or  the  laws 


THE  DEVELOPMENT  OF  KNOWLEDGE        191 

of  magnetic  attraction  and  repulsion,  in  which  certain  abstract 
features  of  their  behaviour  may  be  summarized.  In  the 
second  place,  it  seeks,  in  a  manner  already  indicated  (p.  189), 
to  interpret,  and  to  reduce  to  unity,  wide  ranges  of  natural 
phenomena  by  means  of  such  symbolic  ideas  as  "  force," 
"  atoms,"  "  ether-waves."  But,  as  the  scientific  reader  will 
see,  these  subtler  developments  do  not  carry  it  outside  the 
description  we  have  given  of  the  more  elementary  types. 

Reviewing  the  whole  discussion,  we  may  say  that  self- 
assertion,  as  far  as  it  is  expressed  in  cognitive  activity,  has 
always  the  same  immediate  aim — an  aim  that  may  be 
described  as  the  intellectual  control  of  the  world  over  against 
which  the  individual  maintains  his  creative  independence. 
That  aim  appears,  on  the  threshold  of  life,  in  acts  of  percep- 
tion; the  babe  who  delights  in  the  brightness  of  a  silver  spoon 
or  recognizes  it  as  a  toy  or  an  implement,  has  already  achieved 
some  measure  of  intellectual  control  over  it.  But  as  the 
mind  matures,  there  grow  out  of  this  unconscious  immediate 
aim  three  lines  of  conscious  purpose,  which,  though  they 
constantly  come  together,  are  perfectly  distinct  in  character 
These  we  may  distinguish  as  practical,  sesthetic  and  ethicaL 
Let  us  consider  them  briefly  in  turn. 

The  practical  tendency  of  much  of  our  cognition  is  obvious. 
It  is  obvious,  for  instance,  when  a  traveller  inquires  the  way 
to  a  place  in  order  to  get  there,  or  when  a  tyro  asks  an  expert 
chauffeur  to  explain  the  uses  of  the  levers,  so  that  he,  too,  may 
drive  the  car.  Scientific  inquiry  frequently  aims  directly 
at  practical  control,  though  in  some  instances  the  practical 
motive  may  be  or  seem  to  be  absent.  A  schoolboy  who 
seeks  an  explanation  of  eclipses  certainly  does  not  expect  to 
be  able  to  bring  them  about  when  he  pleases;  but  his  mental 
attitude  is,  nevertheless,  that  of  one  seeking  control.  It  is, 
in  fact,  clear  that  one's  mental  grasp  of  eclipses  is  incomplete 
until  one  can  at  least  predict  when  they  occur.    This  remark 


192    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

shows  that  the  practical  motive  may  lurk,  in  a  subtle  form, 
even  in  the  most  "  disinterested  "  scientific  thought.  The 
chemist  who  affects  to  despise  the  industrial  applications  of 
his  science  still  hungers  for  the  knowledge  that  gives  control 
over  the  transformations  of  matter;  the  "pure"  geologist 
still  presses  for  the  kind  of  understanding  of  the  earth's 
structure  that  we  might  ascribe  to  the  demiourgos  who  made  it. 
We  must,  however,  admit  that  at  this  level  the  scientific  tends 
to  approximate  to  the  aesthetic  purpose  which  we  will  next 
examine. 

When  the  aim  of  cognition  is  practical,  the  analytic  and 
integrative  powers  of  mind  carry  their  work  only  as  far  as  is 
necessary  for  the  task  in  hand.  The  anxious  traveller  takes 
note  of  the  features  of  town  or  landscape  only  in  so  far  as  they 
are  landmarks  guiding  him  to  his  destination.  A  physicist 
or  a  chemist  limits  his  observation  to  facts  that  may  have  a 
bearing  on  the  question  he  is  examining,  The  distinguishing 
mark  of  aesthetic  activity  is  that  it  seeks  after  the  perfection 
of  the  analytico-synthetic  process  as  an  end  in  itself,  without 
regard  to  any  further  purpose  it  may  serve.  Here,  in  sub- 
stance, is  the  answer  given  by  the  Italian  philosopher, 
Benedetto  Croce,  to  the  question,  What  is  art  ? — a  question 
which,  from  the  time  of  Plato,  who  regarded  art  (and  con- 
demned it)  as  a  mere  imitation  of  nature,  has  sorely  vexed 
the  philosophic  mind.  Art  and  beauty,  says  Croce,  are 
successful  expression,  or  as  we  have  put  it,  the  perfect  develop- 
ment of  the  analytico-synthetic  process  of  intuition.1    The 

1  Thus  what  we  usually  think  of  as  the  artist's  expression — the  actual 
picture  or  statue  or  poem — is  not  the  expression  in  Croce' s  sense,  but  only 
a  record  of  it  and  a  means  by  which  it  can  be  communicated  to  others. 
The  true  "  work  of  art"  is,  in  his  view,  the  perfect  analytico-synthetic  pro- 
cess that  takes  place  in  the  artist's  mind.  Croce  probably  undervalues 
here  the  intimacy  of  relation  between  cognition  and  action  (see  pp.  160-1) ;  the 
artist,  we  may  suggest,  arrives  at  his  expression  (in  Croce's  sense)  only  by 
expressing  it  (in  the  ordinary  sense).  It  follows  from  Croce's  position  that 
whenever  we  truly  "appreciate"  a  work  of  art,  we  repeat  ourselves  the 
creative  act  in  which  the  artist  gave  birth  to  it.  This  corollary  is,  no  doubt, 
substantially  sound,  and  is  very  important  from  the  standpoint  of  se3thetio 
training.     To  lead  pupils  to  "appreciate"  is  not  merely  to  lead  them  to 


THE  DEVELOPMENT  OF  KNOWLEDGE       193 

artist  who  creates  a  beautiful  painting  of  a  face  or  a  landscape 
does  not  aim  at  producing  a  faithful  copy  of  what  is  there 
for  everyone  to  see;  his  purpose  is  to  record  the  "  intuition  " 
or  "  expression  "  evoked  from  him  as  he  contemplates  his 
sitter  or  the  country-side.  He  may  even  make  a  beautiful 
picture  out  of  what  is  "naturally"  ugly — that  is,  out  of  some- 
thing which  frustrates  the  effort  of  an  ordinary  person  to  see 
it  and  to  feel  it  as  an  individualized  whole.  And  when  we 
have  learnt  how  the  artist's  vision  has  transmuted  the  bare 
and  ugly  facts,  we,  too,  may  find  beauty  in  them — that  is, 
may  be  able  to  contemplate  them  in  a  successful  act  of 
expression. 

Similarly,  no  one  troubles  to  inquire  whether  the  (Edipus 
Rex  or  Othello  are  true  stories.  Yet,  as  these  instances  show, 
there  is  always  in  great  art  a  congruence  with  reality  that  lies 
deeper  than  mere  historical  truth.  That  is  why  great  art 
often  has  the  highest  ethical  value.  Conversely,  the  beauty  we 
have  noted  as  belonging  to  the  world-wide  visions  of  science 
springs  from  the  fact  that  they  are  necessarily  analytico- 
synthetic  processes  of  great  perfection. 

This  remark  brings  us  to  the  ethical  purpose,  where  we 
are  on  better  explored  ground.  We  have  already  learnt  that 
moral  development  begins  in  the  compulsion  a  child  feels  to 
bring  his  impulses  and  desires  in  harmony  with  those  of 
others  (p.  150).  Thus  ethical  knowledge  is  at  first  a  special 
kind  of  practical  knowledge — being  practical  knowledge 
applied  to  the  control  of  one's  own  conduct  in  social  relations. 
But,  as  his  moral  insight  deepens,  he  comes  to  see  that,  while 
the  end  of  ethical  activity  is  always  individual  good,that  good 
can  be  realized  only  if  it  is  identified  with  a  universal  good. 
Henceforward,  ethical  cognition  is  a  search  for  the  universal 
principles  of  conduct  which  must  be  followed  though  the  sky 

admire  or  to  take  pleasure  in  a  beautiful  thing,  but  to  make  them  become 
in  a  sense  its  re-creators.  The  reader  will  note  how  well  thi3  doctrine 
accords  with  what  was  said  on  pp.  78,  80. 

13 


194    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

fall.  And  in  this  direction,  once  more,  the  three  ends  of 
cognition  may  be  found  to  coincide.  For  the  saint,  in  his 
moments  of  greatest  moral  insight,  may  feel  that  he  is  in 
touch  with  the  very  foundations  of  the  world's  reality,  and 
may  gain  the  completest  vision  of  its  tragic  beauty. 

NOTES  ON  BOOKS,  ETC. 

E.  B.  Titchener,  "Experimental  Psychology  of  the  Thought-Pro- 
cesses," is  a  valuable  criticism  of  recent  experimental  work  on  thought, 
determining  tendencies,  etc.  H.  Sttirt,  "The  Principles  of  Understand- 
ing" (Cambridge  Press,  1915),  develops  in  a  most  interesting  and  instruc- 
tive way  the  notion  of  the  "schema."  The  student  should  also  read  J. 
Dewey,  "  How  We  Think"  (Heath,  1909).  B.  Croce,  "  Estetica"  (1912), 
has  been  translated  by  D.  Ainslie  (Macmillan).  A  very  clear  account  of  bis 
views  is  given  in  Wildon  Carr,  "  The  Philosophy  of  B.  Croce  "(Macmillan, 
1917),  and  they  are  compared  with  those  of  other  philosophers  in  E.  F. 
Carritt,  "The  Theory  of  Beauty"  (Methuen,  1915).  On  the  origin  and 
development  of  gesture-language  and  speech,  the  serious  student  should 
consult  W  Wtjndt,  "  Volkerpsychologie,"  vol.  i,  pt.  i.  (Leipzig,  Engelmann, 
1904).  An  excellent  semi-popular  account  of  "  word-  ma  king "  will  be 
found  in  L.  Pearsall  Smith,  "The  English  Language"  (Home  Univ. 
Series). 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE   SCHOOL   AND   THE   INDIVIDUAL 

As  our  argument  has  developed  we  have  been  led  to  give 
increasing  weight  to  the  social  factors  in  school  life ;  and  the 
reader  may  have  an  uneasy  feeling  that  we  have  thus  drifted 
away  from  the  position  we  took  up  at  the  outset  of  our 
inquiry.  To  round  off  our  task  we  must,  therefore,  consider 
more  definitely  the  relation  between  school  life  and  studies 
and  the  spiritual  growth  of  the  individual  pupil. 

Few  things  are  more  deplorable  than  the  weakening  of 
individuality,  the  chilling  of  enthusiasm,  the  disillusion,  that 
so  often  attend  the  progress  of  a  boy  through  a  school  which 
has,  and  in  the  main  deserves,  the  reputation  of  being  "  good." 
Such  a  school  rarely  fails  to  level  up  its  weaker  members, 
but  cancels  much  of  its  good  work  by  levelling  down  those 
of  richer  promise.  In  part  this  result  is  due  to  forces  that 
cannot  be  wholly  eliminated.  The  boy  is  always  near  to  the 
barbarian,  and  his  societies,  if  left  to  themselves,  naturally 
develop  the  characters  of  a  primitive  tribe  where  custom  rules 
with  rod  of  iron,  and  eccentricity  is  ruthlessly  suppressed.  In 
part  it  is  due  to  the  excessive  use  of  competition — in  which  the 
school  reflects  one  of  the  greatest  evils  that  afflict  the  modern 
world;  for  competition,  like  alcohol,  though  it  may  begin  by 
stimulating,  tends  to  bring  men  in  the  end  to  one  dull,  if  not 
brutish,  level.  But  behind  and  deeper  than  such  causes  one 
may  suspect  the  influence  of  the  erroneous  ideas  about  the 
relation  between  the  individual  and  society  which  were  pointed 
out  in  the  first  chapter  (p.  3).    There  is  the  thought,  working 

195 


196    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

obscurely  or  openly  held,  that  social  conduct  involves  the 
sacrifice  of  individuality,  not  its  enrichment;  that  it  means 
self -surrender,  not  self -fulfilment. 

The  root  error  here  is  the  assumption  that  the  difference 
between  "  selfish  "  and  "  social  "  conduct  coincides  with  the 
difference  between  conduct  that  is,  and  conduct  that  is  not, 
motived  by  the  social  instinct.  Social  factors  often  play  an 
essential  part  in  the  most  selfish  conduct — as  in  that  of  the 
swindler  who  owes  both  his  knowledge  of  human  weaknesses 
and  his  skill  in  exploiting  them  to  the  possession  of  strong 
gregarious  impulses.  And  the  most  clearly  "  social  "  conduct 
always  implies  a  strong  self  behind  it.  For  instance,  the  cul- 
tured missionary  who  cuts  himself  off  from  civilization  to 
minister  to  a  degraded  tribe  in  a  fever-haunted  land,  surrenders 
a  great  deal,  but  he  does  not  surrender  his  self.  On  the 
contrary,  his  conduct  is  unintelligible  except  as  the  self- 
assertion  of  an  unusually  strong  individuality. 

These  examples  bring  out  the  true  characters  of  selfish 
or  anti-social  conduct.  There  is  conduct  which,  in  the  fine 
words  of  Kant,  uses  other  persons  merely  as  means,  and  not 
also  as  ends  in  themselves.  This  is  the  sin  of  the  man  who 
condemns  others  to  degraded  or  empty  lives  in  order  that  he 
may  grow  rich,  of  the  mother  who  uses  the  devotion  of  her 
children  simply  for  her  own  ease — in  a  word,  the  sin  of  ex- 
ploitation in  its  myriad  forms.  Again,  there  is  the  conduct 
of  persons  who,  while  making  use  of  the  gifts  and  labours  of 
others,  deny,  in  effect,  the  reciprocal  obligation  to  put  some- 
thing of  their  own  creation  into  the  common  stock.  One 
thinks  here  of  the  idle  landlord  or  rentier,  of  the  literary  or 
artistic  dilettante  absorbed  in  the  refinement  of  his  own 
taste,  of  the  great  Cavendish  concealing  his  wonderful  scientific 
discoveries.  Conduct  of  these  kinds  seems  clearly  to  be 
selfish  or  anti-social,  and  anti-social  conduct  is,  perhaps, 
always  of  one  of  these  kinds. 

As  we  have  seen,  developed  conduct  almost  always  includes 


THE  SCHOOL  AND  THE  INDIVIDUAL        197 

a  social  reference,  for  it  issues  from  a  self  permeated  with 
social  factors.    Thus  it  is  easy  to  hold  that  social  value  or 
"  utility  "  is  the  one  criterion  of  good  and  bad  conduct. 
But  although  this  is  the  safest  and  best  criterion  for  daily  use, 
it  may  be  doubted  whether  it  is  ultimate.    It  is  at  least 
possible  that  conduct  is  not  good  because  it  is  "  social,"  but 
rather  social  because  it  is  good.    Not  to  speak  of  sins  of  "  self- 
indulgence,"  which  are  censured  with  a  severity  that  takes 
little  account  of  their  probable  social  results,  immediate  or 
remote,1  we  have  to  recognize  the  absolute  impossibility  of 
assessing  the  social  consequences  of  our  most  momentous 
decisions.    Who,  for  instance,  could  determine,  on  grounds 
of  social  utility,  the  nice  question  whether  a  given  person 
should  devote  his  life  to  clearing  up  the  obscurities  in  jEschylus 
or  to  improving  the  practice  of  intensive  agriculture  ?     When 
we  give  due  weight  to  such  considerations,  we  find  it  impossible 
to  judge  conduct,  in  general,  by  any  external  criterion,  and 
have  to  fall  back  upon  the  principle  that  human  lives,  like 
works  of  art,  must  be  judged  by  their  "  expressiveness." 
However  we  interpret  the  phrase  or  conceive  the  fact,  our 
bodies,  or  rather  our  "  body-minds,"  are  meant  to  be  temples 
of  the  Holy  Ghost,  and  though  we  are  left  free,  each  to  work 
out  his  own  plan,  we  are  bound  to  make  the  building  as  fair 
as  the  materials  and  the  powers  at  our  disposal  permit.     Or, 
we  may  say,  our  ultimate  duty  is  not  to  let  our  nature  grow 
untended  and  disorderly,  but  to  use  our  creative  energies  to 
produce  the  most  shapely  individuality  we  can  attain.    For 
only  in  that  way  can  we  be,  as  we  are  bound  to  be,  fellow- 
workers  with  the  Divine  in  the  universe.    This  canon  is  not 
one  by  which  we  can  measure  out  our  conduct  beforehand; 
for  a  creation  cannot  be  judged  until  it  has  appeared,  and 
it  may  for  a  while  baffle  men's  judgment  even  then.    No 

1  The  reader  may  debate  with  himself  the  hypothetical  case  of  Robin- 
son Crusoe  getting  drunk  every  night,  and  may  easily  Gnd  in  ordinary  lifj 
casuistical  problems  of  the  same  type. 


198    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

one,  for  example,  doubts  now  that  Keats  chose  rightly  when 
he  deserted  "  plasters,  pills,  and  ointment  boxes  "  for  poetry; 
yet  eminent  ciitics  of  the  time  held  with  firm  conviction  the 
opposite  opinion.  But  although  the  canon  is  not  usable  like 
a  foot-rule,  it  may  still  be  the  ultimate  standard  of  human 
worth. 

We  conclude,  then,  that  the  idea  that  a  main  function  of 
the  school  is  to  socialize  its  pupils  in  no  wise  contradicts  the 
view  that  its  true  aim  is  to  cultivate  individuality.  We  have 
pointed  out  (p.  8)  that  this  aim  does  not  imply  the  cultiva- 
tion of  eccentricity,  nor  assume  that  all  children  are  potential 
geniuses.  As  Carlyle  wisely  remarks,1  the  merit  of  originality 
is  not  novelty  but  sincerity,  and  that  merit  may  be  earned 
by  one  who  is  not,  in  the  ordinary  sense,  original  at  all.  But 
sincerity  is  an  achievement  possible  only  to  those  who  are 
free  to  follow  the  larger  movements  of  their  own  nature ;  to 
take  from  others  not  what  is  imposed  upon  them,  but  what 
they  need  to  make  their  own.  Hence,  while  the  school  must 
never  fail  to  form  its  pupils  in  the  tradition  of  brotherly 
kindness  and  social  service,  it  must  recognize  that  the  true 
training  for  service  is  one  that  favours  individual  growth, 
and  that  the  highest  form  of  society  would  be  one  in  which 
every  person  would  be  free  to  draw  from  the  common  medium 
what  his  nature  needs,  and  to  enrich  the  common  medium 
with  what  is  most  characteristic  of  himself  (see  p.  5). 

Thus  we  reach  once  more  the  principle  (p.  145)  that  the 
proper  aim  of  education  is  positive,  to  encourage  free  activity, 
not  negative,  to  confine  or  to  repress  it.  What  becomes, 
then,  of  the  concept  of  discipline  which  is  so  essential  in  the 
traditional  ideas  about  school  training  ?  To  gain  a  clear 
answer  to  this  question,  we  must  first  distinguish  between 
discipline  and  school  order,  and  see  that  though  they  overlap 
and  indeed  interpenetrate,  they  are  derived  from  quite 
different  psychological  roots.  School  order  consists  in  the 
1  **  Heroes,"  Lecture  IV. 


THE  SCHOOL  AND  THE  INDIVIDUAL         199 

maintenance  of  the  conditions  necessary  if  school  life  is  to 
fulfil  its  purpose;  and,  as  we  saw  (p.  61),  is  most  effective 
when  based  on  imitation  and  the  routine  tendency.  Disci- 
pline, on  the  other  hand,  is  not  an  external  thing,  like  order, 
but  something  that  touches  the  inmost  springs  of  conduct. 
It  consists  in  the  submission  of  one's  impulses  and  powers 
to  a  regulation  which  imposes  form  upon  their  chaos,  and 
brings  efficiency  and  economy  where  there  would  otherwise 
be  ineffectiveness  and  waste.  Though  parts  of  our  nature 
may  resist  this  control,  its  acceptance  must,  on  the  whole, 
be  willing  acceptance — the  spontaneous  movement  of  a 
nature  in  which  there  is  an  inborn  impulse  towards  greater 
perfection  or  "  expressiveness  "  (  p.  31). 

Thus  the  process  of  discipline  is  akin  to  consolidation 
(pp.  45-6) ;  it  may,  in  fact,  be  regarded  as  a  higher  type  of 
consolidation,  differing  from  the  lower  type  in  that  it  involves 
some  degree  of  conscious  purpose.  We  may  properly  speak 
of  the  movements  of  an  athlete  as  disciplined ;  for  they  have 
gained  their  perfect  form  and  efficiency — in  a  word,  their 
expressiveness — largely  through  conscious  effort.  Similarly, 
we  may  speak  of  a  person  as  disciplined  by  circumstances 
when  he  has  deliberately  used  the  lessons  of  hard  experience 
to  give  shape  to  his  impulses  and  powers.  But  though  a 
person  may  discipline  himself,  as  those  do  who  rise  to  greatness 
in  spite  of  hostile  circumstance,  yet  discipline  is,  in  general, 
the  influence  of  a  wider  or  better  organized  mind  upon  one 
narrower  or  less  developed.  In  all  cases  there  is,  in  a  dis- 
ciplinary process,  a  definite  psychological  sequence.  First 
there  must  be  something  that  one  genuinely  desires  to  do, 
and  one  must  be  conscious  either  of  one's  inability  or  of  some- 
one else's  superior  ability  to  do  it.  Next,  the  perception  of 
inferiority  must  awaken  the  negative  self-feeling  with  its 
impulse  to  fix  attention  upon  the  points  in  which  one's  own 
performance  falls  short  or  the  model's  excels.  Lastly,  comes 
the  repetition  of  effort,  controlled  now  by  a  better  concept  of 


200    EDUCATION :  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

the  proper  procedure,  and  accompanied,  if  successful,  by  an 
outflow  of  positive  self-feeling  which  tends  to  make  the  im- 
proved schema  permanent. 

We  have  had  (p.  140)  a  simple  instance  of  this  two-phase 
process  in  Jack's  behaviour  during  and  after  his  first  tram- 
ride.  The  discipline  a  child  gains  at  school  from  his  teachers 
and  his  comrades  is  of  the  same  character.  It  is  a  directive 
influence,  which  shows  him  the  better  way  and  stimulates 
him  to  make  it  his  own.  The  discipline  of  a  fine  school 
tradition  works  in  the  same  way.  The  eager  boy  is  impressed 
by  what  he  feels,  however  obscurely,  to  be  an  ample  and 
worthy  manner  of  life,  and  is  proud  to  become  an  exemplar 
of  it.  Nor  is  there  anything  essentially  different  in  the 
discipline  derived  from  school  studies,  such  as  mathematics 
or  science  or  classics .  For  here  again ,  what  the  y oun  g  student 
should  assimilate  is  the  superior  control  of  thought  or  ex- 
pression achieved  by  great  investigators  or  writers.  In  short, 
his  position  is  that  of  an  apprentice  striving  to  learn  the  trick 
of  the  master  hand. 

We  can  hardly  leave  the  subject  of  discipline  without 
some  reference  to  the  place  of  punishment  in  the  school 
economy.  Here  the  essential  point  to  seize  is  that  the  intention 
of  punishment  should  be  positive,  not  negative ;  it  should  aim 
at  helping  the  backslider  to  do  willingly  what  he  ought  to  do, 
rather  than  at  preventing  him  from  doing  what  is  forbidden. 
Even  in  the  treatment  of  crime  it  is  now  well  established — 
though  the  fruits  of  the  discovery  are  sadly  slow  in  maturing 
■ — that  mere  repression  is  no  cure,  and  that  the  true  remedy 
lies  in  the  "  sublimation "  of  the  criminal's  misdirected 
energies  (p.  55).  Punishment  may  properly  be  used  as  a 
deterrent  against  acts,  such  as  unpunctuality  and  disobedience, 
that  clearly  violate  the  school  order  which  it  is  the  common 
interest  to  maintain.  But  it  has  no  moral  effect  unless 
approved  by  the  general  sense  of  the  community.  Disorderly 
and  other  mildly  anti-social  acts  are  often  best  punished  by 


THE  SCHOOL  AND  THE  INDIVIDUAL        201 

mere  exclusion  of  the  offender  from  the  common  occupation ; 
the  sight  of  other  children  happily  busy  while  he  is  reduced 
to  nauseous  inactivity  wakens  the  strongest  motive  to  re- 
pentance. This  principle  does  not,  however,  justify  the  per- 
nicious practice  of  "  keeping  in  "  children  whose  naughtiness 
is  an  irritability  due  to  boredom,  to  insufficient  sleep,  or  lack 
of  fresh  air  or  exercise ;  to  cut  such  a  child  off  from  his  play  is 
to  withhold  the  specific  remedy  for  his  disease.  In  propor- 
tion as  an  offence  assumes  the  character  of  a  sin,  the  deterrent 
and  retributive  aspects  of  punishment  should  become  entirely 
subordinate  to  the  remedial;  it  should  look  not  towards  the 
unsatisfactory  past,  but  towards  the  still  hopeful  future.1 
One  may  feel  shame  when  made  to  see  oneself  in  the  unpleasant 
character  in  which  one  appears  to  others,  but  a  real  "  change 
of  heart  "  comes  only  as  one  secures  hold  on  a  better  way  of 
life.  The  wise  teacher,  then,  will  not  be  contented  merely  to 
repress  the  symptoms  of  spiritual  sickness,  but  will  try  by  all 
possible  means  to  remove  its  causes.  And,  as  we  have  seen, 
those  causes  always  consist  in  the  disorderly,  mal-adjusted 
working  of  impulses — attractions  and  repulsions,  conscious, 
and  still  more  frequently  unconscious — which  by  prudent 
handling  may  be  redirected  into  the  ways  of  spiritual 
health.2 

To  these  few  observations  we  add  only  one  general  remark. 
The  conviction,  once  so  deeply  rooted  in  the  teaching  pro- 
fession, that  punishment  and  the  fear  of  punishment  are  the 
natural  foundations  of  school  government,  is  gradually  being 
recognized  as  merely  a  barbarous  superstition.  Every 
teacher  of  wide  experience  now  knows  that  a  school  in 
whose  atmosphere  the  thunder  clouds  of  punishment  are 
always  brooding  may  often  show  no  superiority,  as  regards 

1  There  is  much  wisdom  in  Mr.  Bradley's  epigram:  "  Only  the  spiritually 
rich  can  afford  the  luxury  of  repentance." 

a  Psycho-analysis  is  by  no  means  an  instrument  for  a  layman.  Never- 
theless, it  is  to  the  results  of  psycho-analysis  that  we  must  look  to  find 
methods,  at  once  truly  scientific  and  truly  humane,  of  dealing  with  the  moral 
lapses  of  young  people. 


202    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

visible  order,  over  one  where  punishment  is  a  rarity. 
Offences  must  come  and  must  be  dealt  with,  but  it  is  a  sound 
principle  to  regard  them,  in  general,  as  signs  of  mal-adjust- 
ment  rather  than  of  natural  wickedness :  that  is,  to  take  them 
as  indications  that  there  is  something  wrong  in  the  curriculum, 
the  methods  of  instruction,  or  in  the  physical  or  spiritual 
conditions  of  the  school  work  and  life. 

From  the  general  tenor  of  our  argument  throughout  the 
book  it  is  clear  that  while  the  school  must  be  a  society,  it 
must  be  a  society  of  a  special  character.    It  must  be  a  natural 
society,  in  the  sense  that  there  should  be  no  violent  break 
between  the  conditions  of  life  within  and  without  it.    There 
should  be  no  cramping  or  stifling  of  the  citizens'  energies, 
but  room  for  everyone  to  live  wholly  and  vigorously;  no 
conventional  standards  of  conduct,  but  only  the  universal 
canons  and  ideals;  no  academic  separation  from  the  interests 
of  the  great  world,  but  a  hearty  participation  in  them.     On 
the  other  hand,  a  school  must  be  an  artificial  society  in  the 
sense  that  while  it  should  reflect  the  outer  world  truly,  it 
should  reflect  only  what  is  best  and  most  vital  there.    A 
nation's  schools,  we  might  say,1  are  an  organ  of  its  life,  whose 
special  function  is  to  consolidate  its  spiritual  strength,  to 
maintain  its  historic  continuity,  to  secure  its  past  achieve- 
ments, to  guarantee  its  future.    Through  its  schools  a  nation 
should  become  conscious  of  the  abiding  sources  from  which 
the  best  movements  in  its  life  have   always  drawn  their 
inspiration,  should  come  to  share  the  dreams  of  its  nobler 
sons,  should  constantly  submit  itself  to  self-criticism,  should 
purge  its  ideals,  should  re-inform  and  redirect  its  impulses. 
In  short,  as  Mr.  Branford  has  finely  said,2  the  school  should 
be  "an  idealized  epitome  or  model  of  the  world,  not  merely 
the  world  of  ordinary  affairs,  but  the  whole  of  humanity,  body 
and  soul,  past,  present  and  future." 

1  The  statement  should  be  understood  as  including  the  universities. 

2  "  Janus  and  Vesta,"  p.  145. 


THE  SCHOOL  AND  THE  INDIVIDUAL         203 

This  conception  of  the  school  as  both  a  natural  and  an 
artificial  society  explains  why  it  is  difficult,  if  not  impossible, 
to  give  an  answer,  valid  in  all  circumstances,  to  some  questions 
of  educational  policy.  For  instance,  there  are  many  who 
oppose  boarding  schools  on  the  ground  that  they  cut  boys  and 
girls  off  from  their  natural  life  in  the  home.  But  to  this 
objection  it  may  be  replied  that  in  a  well-conducted  boarding 
school  there  are  a  concentration  of  social  life  and  a  heightening 
of  the  social  temperature  which,  in  their  disciplinary  effect, 
more  than  counterbalance  the  loss  of  home  influence.  There 
is  little  hope  of  bringing  this  dispute  to  a  definite  issue.  The 
modern  tendency  seems  on  the  whole  to  favour  the  day  school; 
but  the  fine  tradition  of  the  historic  English  boarding  schools 
is  by  no  means  moribund,  and  is,  perhaps,  destined  to  give 
birth  to  institutions1  that  will  greatly  enlarge  its  influence 
on  our  national  life.  Meanwhile  there  is  a  healthy  tendency 
for  day  schools  to  adapt  to  their  circumstances  some  of  the 
characteristic  features  of  the  boarding  schools,  and  for  board- 
ing schools  to  break  from  their  monastic  seclusion  and  to 
seek  a  closer  contact  with  outside  interests. 

Co-education  is  an  equally  intractable  question.  Co- 
educators  aim,  in  the  first  instance,  at  purifying  and  strength- 
ening the  bases  of  family  life  by  teaching  boys  and  girls  to 
know  one  another,  and  at  removing,  through  constant  inter- 
course under  natural  conditions,  the  occasions  for  unhealthy 
curiosity  and  premature  sexual  excitement.  And  they  also 
count  upon  a  general  beneficial  influence  of  the  ideals  of  each 
sex  upon  the  character  of  the  other,  and  work  for  some  such 
fusing  of  moral  traditions  as  we  considered  in  a  previous 
chapter  (p.  152).  Those  who  harden  their  hearts  against  these 
ideas  lay  stress  on  the  natural  tendency  for  adolescent  boys 
and  girls  to  move  apart  and  to  develop  unhindered  their  own 

1  For  example,  to  boarding  schools  intended,  like  the  Caldecott  Com- 
munity, to  give  to  children  of  the  working  classes  something  of  the  advan- 
tages of  public  school  life. 


204    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

ways  of  life.1  This  tendency,  they  maintain,  is  a  plain  indi- 
cation that  the  special  virtues  of  the  sexes  are,  at  least  in  the 
later  years  of  school,  best  cultivated  where  neither  sex  is 
distracted  by  the  presence  of  the  other.  That  co-education 
in  childhood  is  a  sound  policy  is,  however,  a  view  rapidly 
spreading,  and  there  are  few  competent  judges  who  do  not 
deprecate  anything  like  conventual  segregation  in  the  years  of 
adolescence.  In  sum,  we  may  say  that  the  question  how  far 
free  association  of  the  sexes  in  work  and  play  is  deliberately 
to  be  limited  or  encouraged  can  hardly  be  decided  without  a 
completer  collation  of  the  evidence  than  seems  at  present 
available. 

The  issue  takes  a  different  form  in  the  controversy  about 
the  respective  merits  of  a  "  general "  and  a  "  vocational  " 
education.  The  upholders  of  vocational  education  are  on 
firm  ground  when  they  emphasize  the  strong  desire  of  the 
adolescent  to  lay  hold  of  the  realities  of  life  (p.  87),  and  their 
opponents  are  in  a  correspondingly  weak  position  when  they 
deny  that  training  for  a  specific  occupation  can  have  educa- 
tional value.  In  discussing  the  question  we  must  take  care 
not  to  cloud  the  issue  by  considerations  relevant  only  to  the 
present  imperfect  state  of  society.  At  the  moment,  we  have 
before  us  this  curious  spectacle :  that  while  schools  which  have 
been  the  strongholds  of  "  liberal  culture  "  are  hastening  to 
fit  their  curricula  to  the  needs  of  modern  industry  and  the 
professions,  the  strongest  opponents  of  vocational  training 
are  among  those  who  speak  for  labour.  The  attitude  of  these 
is  easily  intelligible.  On  the  one  hand,  they  claim  for  the 
poor  the  heritage  of  culture  from  which  they  have  so  long  been 
unjustly  excluded;  on  the  other  hand,  they  think  they  see 
behind  the  proffered  gift  of  vocational  education  the  hand  of 
the  exploiting  employer.  Let  us  be  clear,  then,  that  the 
merits  of  vocational  training  are  here  to  be  debated  upon 
purely  educational  grounds.  From  that  standpoint,  it  is 
1  Of.  Slaughter,  "  The  Adolescent,"  p.  28. 


THE  SCHOOL  AND  THE  INDIVIDUAL         205 

evident  that  some  forms  of  vocational  training  are  at  once 
excluded  from  the  purview  of  the  school.  It  is  useless  to 
train  a  boy  to  be  a  policeman  or  a  tram-conductor,  wrong  to 
train  a  girl  with  a  view  to  her  making  cardboard  boxes  all  her 
life.  But  when  it  is  a  question  of  training  a  future  naval 
officer,  a  mariner,  an  engineer,  a  cabinet-maker,  a  builder,  a 
farmer,  the  decision  may  be  very  different.  Such  occupations 
meet  no  trivial  or  transient  needs.  They  have  behind  them  a 
dignified  history  and  a  distinctive  moral  tradition.  They 
have  nursed  fine  characters  and  given  scope  to  noble  intellects 
and  splendid  practical  powers.  They  cannot  be  worthily 
carried  on  without  scientific  knowledge  or  artistic  culture. 
To  school  a  boy  in  the  tradition  of  one  of  these  ancient  occu- 
pations is  to  ensure  (if  it  suits  his  ingenium)  that  he  will 
throw  himself  into  his  work  with  spirit,  and  with  a  zeal  for 
mastery  that  schoolmasters  usually  look  for  only  in  the  elect. 
And  it  does  more.  Work  which  carries  a  boy  directly  towards 
the  goal  of  his  choice,  work  whose  obvious  usefulness  gives 
him  a  sense  of  dignity  and  power,  often  unlocks  the  finer 
energies  of  a  mind  which  a  "  general  "  education  would  leave 
stupid  and  inert.  The  boy's  whole  intellectual  vitality  may 
be  heightened,  his  sense  of  spiritual  values  quickened.  In 
short,  the  "  vocational  "  training  may  become,  in  the  strictest 
sense,  "  liberal." 

We  come,  then,  to  much  the  same  conclusion  as  before. 
Vocational  education,  if  conducted  in  a  liberal  spirit,  is  per- 
missible, but  cannot  be  made  universal.  On  the  other  hand, 
in  its  concentration  of  interest  on  matters  whose  social  value 
is  evident,  in  its  strong  appeal  to  the  practical  activities,  it 
contains  elements  which  should,  in  some  form,  have  a  large 
place  in  every  educational  scheme.1 

The  question  how  long  school  education  should  last  need 

1  Professor  Dewey's  "  School  and  Society"  is  a  powerful  plea  for  basin? 
the  education  even  of  young  children  upon  the  study  of  essential  arts  and 
occupations.  His  argument  may  be  pressed  too  far,  but  its  general  validity 
Is  beyond  question. 


206    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

not  detain  us,  since  it  was,  for  this  country,  settled  by  Mr. 
Fisher's  great  Act  of  1918.  We  now  recognize,  at  least  in 
principle,  that  M  youth  is  the  time  for  education,"  and  that 
youth,  even  the  youth  of  the  poor,  lasts  until  the  age  of 
eighteen.  University  education  excluded,  there  are  three 
natural  educational  periods  corresponding  to  the  three  major 
waves  of  physical  and  mental  growth  (p.  147).  First,  there 
is  infancy,  merging  into  childhood  between  six  and  eight. 
This  is  the  period  for  education  in  the  home  or  the  nursery 
school,  where  Froebel  and  Montessori  should  be  the  presiding 
deities.  Next  comes  the  wave  of  childhood,  whose  force  is 
normally  spent  at  an  age  not  far  from  twelve.  This  should 
be  for  all  children  the  period  for  "  primary  education  " :  that  is, 
for  a  common  scheme1  of  instruction  and  training  that  meets 
the  intellectual  and  moral  needs  of  childhood  and  supplies 
the  indispensable  basis  for  the  education  of  youth.  Lastly, 
there  is  the  wave  which  carries  the  boy  or  girl  through  ado- 
lescence, to  the  dawning  of  manhood  or  womanhood  about  the 
age  of  eighteen.  This  marks  out  the  period  of  "  secondary 
education."  The  extension  of  this  name  to  all  forms  of  post- 
primary education  is,  admittedly,  a  violation  of  present  usage, 
but  is,  nevertheless,  highly  desirable.  For  it  emphasizes  a 
fact  whose  full  recognition  would  be  one  of  the  greatest  of 
educational  reforms  :  namely,  that  the  problems  of  educating 
youth — whether  the  youth  of  the  aristocracy  in  the  public 
schools  or  the  youth  of  the  slums  in  the  new  continuation 

1  It  should  be  much  nearer  to  the  curriculum  of  an  enlightened  elemen- 
tary school  than  to  the  curriculum  still  imposed  upon  preparatory  schools 
by  the  demands  of  some  public  schools.  In  other  words,  it  should  exclude 
the  premature  study  of  such  subjects  as  Greek,  Latin  and  Algebra.  The 
only  point  really  debatable  is  whether  it  should  exclude  French.  The 
majority  of  the  Prime  Minister's  Committee  on  Modern  Languages  were  in 
favour  of  such  exclusion  from  the  standpoint  of  efficiency  in  teaching  the 
language;  but  an  important  minority  dissented. 

In  the  present  state  of  society,  the  primary  schools  attended  by  the 
poor  are  necessarily  burdened  with  tasks  that  are  discharged  in  the  homes 
of  the  better-to-do.  But  this  fact  does  not  entail  or  justify  any  serious 
departure  from  the  general  principle  laid  down  above. 


THE  SCHOOL  AND  THE  INDIVIDUAL        207 

schools — are  but  variants  of  a  single  problem :  the  problem 
of  dealing  fruitfully  with  a  life-period  whose  central  fact  is 
adolescence.  This  view  does  not  exclude  wide  variations  in 
curriculum.  It  implies  only  that  these  variations  are  no  longer 
to  be  social  distinctions,  but  are  to  be  based  solely  upon 
differences  in  the  ability,  ingenium  and  needs  of  the  nation's 
youth.  Thus  it  implies,  among  other  things,  that  the  rich 
man's  practically  minded  son,  whose  powers  are  starved  under 
a  literary  regimen,  would,  as  a  matter  of  course,  find  salvation 
in  a  technical  or  craft  school ;  while  the  noble  tradition  of  the 
English  "  grammar  "  schools  would  in  time  assimilate  the 
modern  "  central  "  schools — now  treated,  anomalously,  as 
"  elementary  "  schools,  but  clearly  destined  to  be  the  secon- 
dary schools  of  the  people.1 

We  come  now  to  the  last  of  our  problems:  the  problem 
of  the  curriculum.  Upon  what  principles  are  we  to  decide 
what  is  to  be  taught  and  the  spirit  of  the  teaching  ? 

The  most  obvious  criterion  is  that  of  usefulness.  While 
-the  plain  man  generally  likes  his  children  to  pick  up  some 
scraps  of  useless  learning  for  purely  decorative  purposes,  he 
requires,  on  the  whole,  that  they  shall  be  taught  what  will  be 
useful  to  them  in  after-life,  and  he  is  inclined  to  give  "  useful  " 
a  rather  strict  interpretation.  Let  us  beware  of  despising  his 
view;  for  at  bottom  it  is  thoroughly  sound.  If  he  could 
think  his  thoughts  out  clearly,  he  would  often  be  found  to  be 
not  an  enemy  of  culture,  properly  understood,  but  only  of  the 
academic  folly  that  cuts  culture  of!  from  its  roots  in  common 

1  Purely  administrative  questions  are  outside  our  province.  The 
author  may  observe,  however,  that  he  has  long  advocated  a  "clean  cut" 
across  the  educational  system  at  the  age  of  eleven  to  twelve.  Education 
below  that  age  should  be  treated  definitely  as  the  education  of  children, 
and  should  be  brought  much  more  than  at  present  under  the  control  of 
women.  After  that  age,  the  curriculum  of  boys  and  girls  who  do  not  enter 
upon  a  full-time  "secondary"  or  "technical"  course  Bhould  be  brought 
into  definite  relations  with  the  course  in  the  continuation  school  which  they 
will  attend  from  the  age  of  fourteen  or  fifteen  onwards.  In  other  words, 
the  course  for  all  young  people,  from  eleven  or  twelve  to  the  end  of  their 
schooling,  should  be  thought  out  and  administered  as  a  continuous  whole. 


208    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

life.  He  is  right  in  thinking  that  this  tendency — the  besetting 
temptation  of  the  schoolmaster  in  all  ages — does  untold  harm. 
The  man  who  would  expel  the  ancient  classics  from  our  schools 
is  a  less  dangerous  Philistine  than  the  man  who  treats  their 
pages  chiefly  as  material  for  "  mental  gymnastic  "j1  nor  is  his 
modern  rival,  the  teacher  of  science,  always  guiltless  of  what 
is,  at  bottom,  the  same  sin.2  Thus  lay  criticism,  even  when 
imperfectly  informed,  is  valuable  if  only  because  it  constantly 
brings  us  back  to  the  true  function  of  the  school  in  relation 
to  society  (p.  202),  and  challenges  us  to  examine  the  relevance 
of  our  teaching  to  the  needs  of  life. 

The  criterion  of  usefulness  is,  however,  not  always  easy  to 
apply.  Take  mathematics — a  subject  in  whose  usefulness 
the  average  parent  has  complete  faith.  There  is  no  doubt 
that  a  certain  power  of  handling  figures  is  a  very  desirable 
accomplishment ;  any  person  is  likely  often  to  be  embarrassed 
if  he  cannot  cast  accounts,  determine  his  profits  and  losses, 
and  check  his  change.  But  it  is  difficult  to  show  that  the 
majority  of  people  will  ever  need  much  more  mathematical 
skill  than  this.  How  then  are  we  to  justify  the  universal 
study  of  the  abstruser  parts  of  arithmetic,  to  say  nothing  of 
the  geometry  and  algebra  that  are  "  useful "  only  in  certain 
professions  ?  Nonplussed  by  this  difficulty,  the  plain  man 
will  generally  admit  that,  though  some  kinds  of  learning  may 
not  be  directly  useful  in  life,  they  may  be  indirectly  useful  in 
as  much  as  they  give  valuable  "  mental  training."    But  that 

1  "  The  trade  in  classic  niceties, 
The  dangerous  craft,  of  culling  term  and  phrase 
From  languages  that  want  the  living  voice 
To  carry  meaning  to  the  natural  heart; 
To  tell  us  what  is  passion,  what  is  truth, 
What  reason,  what  simplicity  and  sense." 

Wordsworth:  Prelude,    Bk.    VI. 

The  whole  poem  is  an  invaluable  document  for  the  theory  of  education 
for  individuality. 

2  Qf."  The  New  Teaching,"  ch.  v.  A  brilliant  student  recently  informed 
the  author  that  while  at  school  she  never  conceived  science  as  having  refer- 
ence to  anything  that  happens  outside  a  laboratory  I 


THE  SCHOOL  AND  THE  INDIVIDUAL        209 

position  once  conceded,  the  schoolmaster  has  licence  to  in- 
dulge to  the  full  his  inveterate  penchant  for  formalism.  He 
may  teach  uninterested  boys  to  construe  Latin,  because 
although  they  will  forget  the  Latin  at  the  earliest  opportunity, 
they  will  have  acquired  "  exactness  of  thought  "  and  the 
priceless  power  of  conquering  difficulties ;  he  may  make  them 
spend  weary  hours  in  "  simplifying  "  formidable  algebraic 
expressions,  because  in  that  way  one  gains  "  accuracy  of 
mind  " ;  in  short,  he  will  claim  the  right  to  continue  doing  all 
the  things  that  seem  so  unreasonable  to  the  unenlightened 
outsider. 

Here  is  the  famous  doctrine  of  "  formal  training,"  which 
asserts  that  facility  acquired  in  any  particular  form  of 
intellectual  exercise  produces  a  general  competence  in  all 
exercises  that  involve  the  same  "  faculty."  Its  paradoxes 
were  exposed  by  Professor  John  Adams  by  a  reduclio  ad 
absurdum  that  will  always  be  one  of  the  most  delightful 
passages  in  pedagogic  literature;1  and  its  truth  has  been 
tested — and  found  wanting — in  many  instances  where  it 
could  be  tried  at  the  bar  of  exact  experiment.2  Yet  it  is 
difficult  to  suppose  that  there  is  no  truth  in  a  view  which 
holds  so  firm  a  grip  upon  teachers  and  has  seemed  unquestion- 
able to  many  acutely  observant  minds.  In  what,  then,  does 
its  truth  consist  ? 

Our  study  of  discipline  (p.  128)  suggests  an  answer.  A 
subject  such  as  mathematics  represents  a  tradition  of  intel- 
lectual activity  that  has  for  centuries  been  directed  towards 
a  special  class  of  objects  and  problems.  In  generation  after 
generation  men,  sometimes  of  outstanding  genius,  have 
studied  those  objects  and  worked  at  those  problems ;  accept- 
ing, correcting,  expanding  the  methods  and  knowledge  of 
their  predecessors  and  handing  on  the  results  of  their  own 

1  "The  Herbartian  Psychology  applied  to  Education,"  ch.  v. 

a  Dr.  W.  G.  Sleight's  experiments  (see  p.  220)  seem  to  prove  conclusively 
that  memorizing  a  particular  kind  of  material  produces  no  general  im- 
provement of  memory. 

u 


210    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

labours  to  be  treated  in  the  same  way.  There  has  grown  up 
thus  a  distinctive  type  of  intellectual  activity,  exhibiting  a 
well-marked  individuality,  and  informed  by  a  characteristic 
spirit.  The  student  who  is  thoroughly  schooled  in  the  subject 
will  make  this  spirit  his  own;  the  ideas  and  mental  habits 
proper  to  it  will  become  ingrained  in  his  nature,  and  he  will 
tend  to  bring  them  into  play  wherever  they  can  be  applied. 
A  lawyer,  for  instance,  will  reveal  his  legal  training  in  treating 
any  question  of  general  rules  or  the  estimation  of  evidence, 
however  remote  it  may  be  from  his  professional  interests — 
as  Gilbert  of  Colchester  said  of  the  great  Bacon,  a  Lord 
Chancellor  will  write  on  science  like  a  Lord  Chancellor.  So  a 
modern  chemist  may  be  heard  to  complain  of  a  fellow-investi- 
gator, trained  in  the  sister-science,  that  he  attacks  chemical 
problems  like  a  physicist.1 

The  history  of  thought  constantly  exemplifies  the  same 
principle.  For  example,  Newton,  preoccupied  by  ideas  of 
gravitational  attraction,  carried  the  "  astronomical  view  of 
Nature  "  into  all  departments  of  his  scientific  studies,  and 
so  laid  the  foundations  of  modern  molecular  physics  and 
atomic  chemistry.  And  not  only  so;  it  is  not  extravagant 
to  say  that  the  thinkers  of  the  eighteenth  century,  schooled 
in  the  Newtonian  ideas,  dealt  in  what  we  may  call  the  astro- 
nomical spirit  even  with  political  and  social  problems ;  just  as 
their  successors,  schooled  in  Darwinism,  have  dealt  with  them 
in  terms  of  the  biological  notion  of  evolution  through  natural 
selection.2 

We  conclude,  then,  that  the  training  produced  by  an 
occupation  or  a  study  consists  primarily  in  a  facility  in  apply- 

1  Mr.  G.  K.  Chesterton  has  somewhere  gibed  at  the  man  who  would 
decide  the  question  of  human  immortality  from  the  standpoint  of  an  electri- 
cal engineer.  But  can  an  electrical  engineer  do  otherwise  ?  We  can  none 
of  us  escape  from  the  habitudes  and  outlook  that  belong  to  our  training. 
That  is  why  men  must  differ  in  opinion  to  the  end  of  time,  and  why  large 
ranges  of  truth  will  always  be  inaccessible  to  each  of  us. 

2  Mr.  Branf ord  points  out  what  loss  our  national  life  has  suffered  through 
the  modern  degradation  of  agriculture,  which  has  deprived  it  of  one  of  the 
most  valuable  souroes  of  trained  intellect  and  judgment. 


THE  SCHOOL  AND  THE  INDIVIDUAL        211 

1112  certain  ideas  and  methods  to  situations  of  a  certain  kind, 
and  in  a  strong  tendency  to  bring  the  same  ideas  and  methods 
to  bear  upon  any  situations  akin  to  these.  If  to  this  state- 
ment be  added  what  we  have  said  about  the  permanence  of 
the  qualities  generated  in  a  sentiment  (p.  146),  the  reader  will 
have  before  him  practically  all  the  facts  about  "  mental 
training  "  that  will  stand  examination. 

Our  view  of  the  curriculum  now  shapes  itself  as  follows. 
The  school  must  be  thought  of  primarily  not  as  a  place  where 
certain  knowledge  is  learnt,  but  as  a  place  where  the  young 
are  disciplined  in  certain  forms  of  activity — namely,  those  that 
are  of  greatest  and  most  permanent  significance  in  the  wider 
world.  Those  activities  fall  naturally  into  two  groups.  In 
the  first  we  place  the  activities  that  safeguard  the  conditions 
and  maintain  the  standard  of  individual  and  social  life :  such 
as  the  care  of  health  and  bodily  grace,  manners,  social 
organization,  morals,  religion;  in  the  second,  the  typical 
creative  activities  that  constitute,  so  to  speak,  the  solid  tissue 
of  civilization.  The  latter  can  be  easily  identified.  What  a 
loss  civilization  would  suffer  if  all  that  the  words  "  art  "  and 
"  science  "  stand  for  were  obliterated !  What  a  poor  thing  it 
would  be  if  the  poet  ceased  to  dream  and  sing,  if  there  were 
none  to  "  handle  the  harp  and  pipe,"  if  the  hand  of  the 
craftsman  forgot  its  cunning! 

In  the  school  curriculum  all  these  activities  should  be 
represented.  For  these  are  the  grand  expressions  of  the  human 
spirit,  and  theirs  are  the  forms  in  which  the  creative  energies 
of  every  generation  must  be  disciplined  if  the  movement  of 
civilization  is  to  be  worthily  maintained.  Taking  the  second 
group  first,  every  complete  scheme  of  education  must  com- 
prise (i.)  literature,  including  at  least  the  best  literature  of  the 
mother-land ;  (ii. )  some  forms  of  art,  including  music,  the  most 
universal  of  the  arts;1  (iii.)  handicraft,  taught  with  emphasis 

1  The  inferior  place  now  given  to  art  is  one  of  the  gravest  defects  of  the 
curriculum,  especially  in  secondary  schools. 


212    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

either  on  its  aesthetic  aspect,  as  in  weaving,  carving,  lettering, 
or  on  its  constructional  aspect,  as  in  carpentry  and  needle- 
work; (iv.)  science,  including  mathematics,  the  science  of 
number,  space  and  time.  History  and  geography  should 
appear  in  it  in  a  double  guise.  On  the  one  hand,  history 
belongs  with  literature  as  geography  belongs  with  science. 
On  the  other  hand,  they  should  have  a  central  position  in 
the  curriculum  as  the  subjects  in  which  the  human  movement 
is,  as  such,  presented  and  interpreted :  history  teaching  the 
solidarity  of  the  present  with  the  past,  geography  the 
dependence  of  man's  life  upon  his  natural  environment,  and 
the  interdependence  of  human  activities  all  over  the  globe.1 

The  activities  of  the  first  group  cannot,  from  their  nature, 
be  treated  as  "subjects,"  though  they  should  be  inspired 
and  nourished  by  the  pupil's  studies  and  must  to  a  varying 
extent  be  guided  by  definite  teaching.  Physical  health  and 
bodily  grace,  for  instance,  cannot  be  taught  as  French  is 
taught,  though,  as  regards  health,  the  pupil  should  gain 
hygienic  ideals  and  knowledge  in  his  science  lessons,  and,  as 
regards  bodily  grace,  there  may  be  lessons  in  "  eurhythmies," 
in  addition  to  the  training  of  voice,  gesture  and  carriage  which 
will  be  gained  in  the  dramatic  and  oratorical  exercises  that 
will  form  part  of  his  literary  studies.  Similarly,  the  pupil 
will  learn  the  ideals  of  government  and  social  organization 
in  the  exercise  of  his  duties  as  a  citizen  of  the  school  society, 
though  his  lessons  in  history  ("  civics  ")  should  here  have 
much  direct  and  indirect  influence. 

Of  religion  substantially  the  same  things  must  be  affirmed. 
Few  will  dispute  the  assertion  that  no  department  of  school 
activity  is  in  a  more  unsatisfactory  state  than  "  religious 
training."    It  would  be  unjust  to  charge  upon  the  schools  a 

1  Cf.  J.  Fairgrieve,  "  Geography  and  World  Power,"  pp.  343-44 
(Univ.  of  London  Press,  new  ed.  1919).  The  cultivation  of  language,  with 
the  dependent  arts  of  reading  and  writing,  is  not  mentioned  specifically  in 
our  list,  because,  although  it  must  have  its  separate  lessons,  it  is  so 
fundamental  as  to  be  involved  in  practically  all  the  activities  of  both  groups. 


THE  SCHOOL  AND  THE  INDIVIDUAL        213 

fault  in  which  they  simply  reflect  the  confusion  and  be- 
wilderment that  weaken  the  spiritual  energies  of  all  the 
civilized  peoples.  There  is,  however,  no  hope  of  remedy- 
ing the  disaster,  until  the  character  and  history  of  religion  as 
a  natural  activity  of  the  human  spirit  have  been  properly 
analyzed,  and  a  teaching  procedure  based  on  that  analysis 
has  been  worked  out  and  courageously  applied. 

It  would  be  arrogant  to  offer  here  more  than  a  few  tentative 
remarks  upon  so  tremendous  a  theme.  In  religion  there  are 
_two  things,  carefully  to  be  distinguished.  One  we  may  call 
the  religious  jspirit ;  the  other  is  theology^  which  is  a  theory 
of  the  objects  that  evoke  the  religious  spirit.  No  man  in 
whom  the  religious  spirit  stirs  can  altogether  avoid  a  theology. 
Atheism  itself  is  a  religious  theory — one  that  excludes  God, 
because,  like  Laplace's  cosmogony,  it  finds  no  need  for  that 
hypothesis.  The  essential  marks  of  the  religious  spirit  are 
the  recognition  that  there  are  objects  of  supreme  and  universal 
worth  which  rightly  claim  our  reverence  and  service,  together 
with  a  sense  that,  though  in  our  weakness  and  unworthiness 
we  must  ever  be  their  "  unprofitable  servants,"  yet  to  deny 
their  claims  or  to  fail  in  loyalty  to  them  is  shameful  and 
dishonouring.  Thus  a  man  may  reveal  the  religious  spirit 
in  devotion  to  truth  or  to  art,  or  in  the  loving  service  of  his 
fellows ;  such  devotion  and  service  being  felt,  as  we  have  said, 
as  a  Divine  charge  which  he  may  not  refuse,  though  its 
form,  varying  with  the  form  of  one's  individuality,  need  not 
be  the  same  for  him  as  for  another  (p.  197). 

The  religious  spirit,  like  all  large  movements  of  our  nature, 
inevitably  takes  on  a  social  character.  Men  who  serve  the 
same  ideals  will  come  together  to  share  the  warmth  of  their 
devotion  or  to  confirm  their  faith,  to  preach  or  to  hear  their 
gospel.  Thus  the  religious  spirit  will  always  have  its  church, 
if  it  be  only  an  "  ethical  society  "  or  an  art  club.  And  where 
there  is  a  church  there  will  surely  grow  up  a  ritual — that  is, 
some  form  of  routine  charged  with  spiritual  symbolism  (p.  64). 


214    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

In  religious  training  the  first  thing  is  to  awaken  and  feed 
the  religious  spirit.  It  often  finds  its  nutriment  in  strange 
places.  It  has,  for  example,  been  justly  remarked  that  boys, 
at  an  age  when  they  might  seem  spiritually  dead,  pursue 
games  with  what  can  only  be  described  truly  as  religious 
fervour.  To  "  play  the  game  "  and  to  "  be  just  and  fear  not  " 
are  for  them  completely  equivalent  expressions.  A  wise 
training  would  deliberately  set  about  to  sublimate  this  religious 
energy  into  wider  social  forms  instead  of  leaving  it  locked 
up  in  its  primitive  narrow  channel.1 

Of  school  studies,  literature  is  from  the  present  standpoint 
the  most  important ;  for 

books  which  lay 
Their  sure  foundations  in  the  heart  of  man 

have  more  power  than  anything,  except  the  contagion  of  a 
noble  character,  to  heighten  the  sense  of  life  and  of  its  values. 
It  is  for  this  reason  deplorable  th*t  the  reverence  that  set  the 
Bible  apart  as  a  book  by  itself  has  largely  defeated  its  own 
aim.  In  the  interests  of  religious  training  nothing  is  more 
desirable  than  that  the  Bible  should  be  removed  from  its 
unnatural  isolation,  and  restored  to  the  company  of  books 
read  and  loved  for  their  own  sake.  And  if  we  should  not 
forever  treat  Bible  poetry  and  story  merely  as  occasions  for 
moral  disquisition  or  theological  interpretation,  but  should 
let  it  deliver  its  own  witness,  quietly,  to  man's  spiritual 
experience,  so,  when  we  desire  to  appeal  specifically  to 
that  experience,  we  do  unwisely  to  confine  attention  to  its 
pages.  There  are  many  fervent  Christians  who  count  the 
dialogues  of  Plato  among  the  documents  of  their  faith.2 

1  The  exaggerated  cult  of  athletics  too  often  does  the  latter.  It  is 
instructive  to  observe  that  a  man  who  is  in  most  respects  a  reprobate  may 
still  show  in  "sport"  a  quasi-religious  sense  of  duty  and  honour. 

2  A  headmaster  friend  tells  the  author  that  one  of  his  prefects  recently 
chose  as  the  "  lesson  "  for  the  day  a  passage  from  the  Phaedo  which  he  was 
at  the  time  reading  in  class.  Such  an  incident  illustrates  well  the  natural 
catholicity  of  the  adolesoent,  as  well  as  his  sensitiveness  to  the  spiritual 
value  of  literature. 


THE  SCHOOL  AND  THE  INDIVIDUAL         215 

Upon  the  ritual  aspect  of  school  religion  we  can  say  here 
nothing  more  than  is  contained  or  suggested  in  a  previous 
chapter  (Ch.  VI).  The  standing  danger  with  regard  to  school 
"  services  "  is  the  one  to  which  Wordsworth  refers  so  scathingly 
in  his  lines  upon  compulsory  college  chapel : 

Was  ever  known 
The  witless  shepherd  who  persists  to  drive 
A  flock  that  thirsts  not  to  a  pool  disliked  ? 

and  it  can  be  avoided  only  by  courageous  and  candid  study  of 
the  actual  spiritual  needs  of  young  people  of  different  ages. 

As  we  come  to  what  we  have  called  theology,  we  approach 
by  far  the  most  difficult  problem,  the  one  with  which  it  is  least 
possible  to  deal  profitably.  There  are  here  two  hopelessly 
discordant  policies.  One  is  the  policy  of  those  who  hold  that 
a  school  should  draw  its  whole  life  from  some  historic  religious 
society  with  its  centuries  of  experience  and  its  traditional 
creed  and  ritual ;  the  other,  of  those  who  would  leave  the  duty 
of  giving  definite  shape  to  children's  ideas  about  the  source 
of  the  Divine  to  the  churches  and  home  teaching.  These 
conflicting  views  and  the  several  compromises  between  them 
we  must  leave  as  they  are.  We  must,  however,  insist  that 
success  here,  as  elsewhere  in  education,  can  be  hoped  for  only 
if  the  concepts  offered  to  young  people  are  adjusted  to  their 
actual  experience  and  state  of  development  (p.  153).  Neglect 
of  this  principle  must  often  set  up  complexes  which  will  later 
reveal  themselves  in  the  form  of  hostility  to  all  religious  ideas 
— a  phenomenon  with  which  those  who  have  the  confidence 
of  adolescents  are  familiar. 

The  subjects  of  the  curriculum  are,  we  have  said,  to  be 
taught  as  activities.  This  means,  for  example,  that  in  teaching 
science  our  aim  should  be  "  to  make  our  pupils  feel,  so  far  as 
they  may,  what  it  is  to  be,  so  to  speak,  inside  the  skin  of  the 
man  of  science,  looking  out  through  his  eyes  as  well  as  using 
his  tools,  experiencing  not  only  something  of  his  labours,  but 


216    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

also  something  of  his  sense  of  joyous  intellectual  adventure." 
In  short,  all  subjects  should  be  taught  in  the  "  play  way," 
care  being  taken  that  the  "  way  "  leads  continuously  from 
the  irresponsible  frolic  of  childhood  to  the  disciplined  labours 
of  manhood  (pp.  83-88).  In  this  process  there  will  naturally 
be,  in  all  the  subjects,  stages  showing  a  community  of  char- 
acter, and  analogous  to  stages  in  their  historic  development. 
The  first  is  a  stage  whose  characters  are  summed  up  in  the 
"  pleasure-pain  principle."  This  is  represented  by  "  nature 
study,"  and  by  the  love  of  myth,  legend  and  marvellous 
travellers'  tales,  the  common  matrix  out  of  which  the  pursuit 
of  literature,  history  and  geography  are  to  grow.  Gradually 
the  "  reality  principle  "  asserts  its  sway.  History  becomes 
separated  from  story  as  the  tale  of  what  has  really  happened, 
and  story  itself  must  have  verisimilitude ;  interest  in  science 
becomes  a  passion  to  understand  how  machines  work,  how 
things  are  made,  how  the  life  of  plants  and  animals  is  sus- 
tained. In  adolescence  the  synthetic  activity  involved  in  the 
pupil's  intellectual  adventures  often  becomes  their  most 
marked  feature.  His  imagination  is  captured  by  the  majestic 
generalizations  of  science,  he  seeks  a  synoptic  view  of 
history,  and  takes  pleasure  in  the  logical  completeness  of  a 
geometrical  system. 

It  would  be  out  of  place  to  follow  these  ideas  into  their 
applications.  There  is,  however,  a  last  general  question  which 
must  not  be  set  aside.  The  school,  as  we  have  pictured  it, 
is  a  select  environment  where  the  creative  energies  of  youth 
may  work  towards  individuality  under  the  best  conditions. 
Does  that  conception  imply  that  every  pupil  shall  be  free  to 
take  from  it  or  to  ignore  whatever  he  pleases  ?  If  so,  would 
not  education  be  reduced  to  an  anarchy  offensive  to  common- 
sense,  corruptive  rather  than  formative  of  character  ?  If  not, 
does  not  the  principle  we  have  so  persistently  asserted  turn 
out  to  be  but  a  high-sounding  phrase  ? 


THE  SCHOOL  AND  THE  INDIVIDUAL        217 

Happily  for  our  comfort,  we  need  accept  neither  horn  of 
this  alarming  dilemma.  Of  a  child  it  can  generally  be  said 
with  more  truth  than  of  any  man,  humani  nil  a  se  alienum 
pulat.  A  normal  child's  appetite  is  as  varied  as  it  is  vigorous , 
and  he  can  rarely  resist  the  impulse  to  emulate  another's 
exploits.  Thus  it  is  not  often  difficult  to  make  him  take  his 
intellectual  meals,  provided  the  fare  is  properly  chosen  and 
attractively  set  out.  As  he  grows  older,  other  normalizing 
factors  come  into  play:  shame  at  ignorance  or  inferiority, 
zeal  for  the  honour  of  his  form  or  house,  a  sense  of  duty,  a 
desire  to  please  his  teachers  and  a  readiness  to  accept  their 
point  of  view,  and  on  top  of  these,  the  tendency  to  do  the 
accepted  thing  because  it  is  accepted.  Still  later,  at  the  age 
when,  under  the  existing  order,  specialization  is  held  to  be 
desirable,  caprice  is  checked  partly  by  the  pupil's  knowledge 
that  certain  subjects,  some  perhaps  distasteful,  are  necessary 
ingredients  in  his  professional  studies,  partly  by  his  discovery 
that  the  subjects  nearest  to  his  heart  cannot  be  pursued  far 
without  the  help  of  others — as  a  student  of  history  or  science 
finds  that  he  cannot  get  on  without  some  grinding  at  foreign 
languages.  Thus  it  is  safe  to  predict  that  a  schoolmaster 
bold  enough  to  dispense  with  all  compulsions  and  skilful 
enough  to  maintain  the  proper  atmosphere  would  find  that, 
under  the  influence  of  these  forces,  things  would  settle  down  to 
much  the  same  outward  condition  as  before.  But,  while 
no  miracles  would  happen,  and  boys  and  girls  would  remain 
boys  and  girls,  sometimes  idle  and  sometimes  wayward  or 
worse,  there  would  be  in  the  school  life  as  a  whole  a  sincerity, 
a  vigour,  a  dignity,  that  are  hardly  attainable  under  the 
authoritarian  tradition. 

The  reader  may  press  the  case  of  a  pupil  who  withstands 
the  social  forces  tending  to  drive  him  to  naturally  distasteful 
studies.  Is  he  to  be  allowed  to  leave  school  ignorant  of  an 
essential  subject  simply  because  he  chances  never  to  have 
felt  its  attraction  ?     It  would  be  fair  to  counter  this  question 


218    EDUCATION:  DATA  AMD  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

with  another.  Does  the  disaster  here  contemplated  never 
happen  under  the  present  system  ?  Do  we  really  succeed 
in  forcing  unwilling  students  to  assimilate  what  we  think  they 
ought  to  know  ?  But  the  tu  quoque  argument  generally 
covers  an  attempt  to  evade  an  issue.  Let  us  face  the  issue 
and  admit  that  in  our  ideal  school  the  ultimate  veto  lies  with 
the  pupil.  There  are  considerations  that  will  make  this 
state  of  affairs  seem  less  scandalous  than  it  at  first  appears .  A 
pupil  who  resists  the  appeal  of  a  subject  has  often  been  known 
to  turn  to  it  later  with  great  zeal,  and  soon  to  make  up  the 
headway  he  had  lost.  This  observation,  which  every  ex- 
perienced teacher  can  confirm,  should  convince  us  that  the 
apparently  waywTard  movements  of  a  child's  mind  are  generally 
controlled  by  deep  currents  of  his  being  which  it  is  highly 
imprudent  to  ignore  (see  pp.  54-6).  If  the  resistance 
persists  to  the  end,  it  is  better  to  cut  the  loss  rather  than  to  do 
violence  to  the  pupil's  nature.1  After  all,  if  we  once  admit 
that  minds  of  varying  types  have  an  equal  right  to  exist,  we 
shall  be  ready  to  see  that  the  interests  of  a  boy  or  a  girl  are 
rarely  so  erratic  as  not  to  offer  the  basis  of  a  synthesis  of 
studies  that  will  perform  all  the  essential  functions  of  an  educa- 
tion. Moreover,  though  it  may  seem  to  a  teacher  deplorable 
that  a  pupil  should  leave  school  with  wisdom  at  one  of  her 
main  entrances  quite  shut  out,  this  feeling  expresses  a  pro- 
fessional prejudice  rather  than  the  judgment  of  the  greater 
world.  The  world,  indeed,  is  widely  tolerant  of  ignorance 
in  most  matters,  provided  it  is  balanced  by  competence  in 
others.  And  here  we  must  always  remember  two  highly 
significant  facts:  first,  that  rebels  against  the  Procrustean 
tactics  of  the  schoolmaster  have,  in  numberless  instances, 
proved  surprisingly  competent  in  after-life;  and,  secondly, 
that  most  of  these,  including  some  who  have  placed  the  world 

1  At  least  one  headmaster  of  an  important  public  school  has  advocated 
letting  a  boy  drop  the  study  of  all  languages  but  his  own  if  he  shows  a  per- 
sistent distaste  for  thorn. 


THE  SCHOOL  AND  THE  INDIVIDUAL         219 

deeply  in  their  debt,  so  far  from  repenting  of  their  youthful 
intransigence,  have  continued  to  be  the  severest  critics  of  the 
system  against  which  their  inarticulate  protests  were  once 
raised  in  vain. 

It  must  be  admitted  that  schools  of  the  type  we  have  con- 
sidered in  this  chapter  at  present  flourish  most  successfully 
in  Utopia,  where  teachers  are  all  men  and  women  of  character 
and  genius,  where  administrative  difficulties  scarcely  exist, 
and,  above  all,  where  the  school  is  the  organ  of  a  society 
infinitely  more  enlightened  than  our  own.  The  fact  is, 
however,  irrelevant  to  the  value  of  our  argument;  for  it  is 
the  proper  function  of  an  ideal  to  point  beyond  the  range  of 
present  possibility.  The  only  question  really  relevant  is 
whether  it  points  in  the  right  direction.  That  question 
must  be  left  to  the  judgment  of  the  reader,  who  will  decide 
whether  we  have  justified  the  position  outlined  in  the  first 
chapter,  and  shown  it  to  be  firmly  based  upon  the  nature  and 
needs  of  man  and  society. 

We  stand  at  an  hour  when  the  civilization  that  bred  us  is 
sick — some  fear  even  to  death.  We  cannot  escape  from  the 
duty  of  seeking  a  cure  for  its  distemper,  any  more  than  from 
the  responsibility  that  lies,  in  some  measure,  upon  us  all  of 
having  brought  it  to  its  present  pass.  But  however  good  our 
will,  however  happy  our  inspiration,  the  problems  we  and  those 
who  came  before  us  have  created  are  problems  we  cannot 
hope  ourselves  to  solve ;  they  must  be  solved,  if  at  all,  by  the 
generations  that  will  take  up  our  work  when  our  place  knows 
us  no  more.  Thus  the  question  we  have  debated  is  of  no 
mere  academic  interest.  It  concerns  all  who  would  fain 
believe  that  men  are  not  wholly  the  sport  of  circumstance  or 
the  puppets  of  fate,  but  that  their  own  wills  shape  the  decrees 
which  determine,  slowly  yet  inevitably,  "  the  doubtful  doom 
of  humankind."  To  all  such  it  must  be  important  to  be 
assured  that  though  our  children  cannot  build  a  fairer  world 


220    EDUCATION:  DATA  AND  FIRST  PRINCIPLES 

on  any  other  foundation  than  our  own,  yet  they  are  not  bound, 
unless  in  our  folly  we  will  have  it  so,  to  repeat  forever  our 
failures ;  that  they  have  in  them  a  creative  power  which,  if 
wisely  encouraged  and  tolerantly  guided,  may  remould  our 
best  into  a  life  far  worthier  than  we  have  seen  or  than  it  has 
entered  into  our  hearts  to  conceive. 


NOTES  ON  BOOKS,  ETC. 

"  Education  Reform  "  (P.  S.  Kino,  1917)  contains  reports  by  the  present 
author  and  others  dealing  more  fully  with  points  of  curriculum  and  organiza- 
tion touched  on  in  this  chapter.  W.  G.  Sleight,  "  Educational  Values  and 
Methods ' '  (Clarendon  Press,  1915),  contains  the  best  review  of  experiments  on 
formal  training  with  a  discussion  of  their  educational  bearing.  The  doctrine 
of  the  curriculum  sketched  on  pp.  211-12  is  closely  similar  to  that  given 
in  B.  Branford,  "  Janus  and  Vesta"  (Chatto  and  Windus,  1916),  a  masterly 
work  full  of  profound  reflections  on  educational  questions.  Professor  John 
Dewey's  works  (especially  "  The  School  and  Society"  and  "  Schools  of  To- 
morrow") should  be  known  to  all  students.  On  religious  instruction  see 
two  wise  and  eloquent  little  books  by  E.  T.  C  vmpaqnac,  "  Converging 
Paths"  and  "Religion  and  Religious  Training"  (Cambridge  University 
Press,  1916  and  1918).  T.  Raymont,  "  The  Use  of  the  Bible  in  the  Educa- 
tion of  the  Young  "  (Longmans,  1911),  is  an  eminently  useful  and  suggestive 
work.  H.  Bompas  Smith,  "Boys  and  their  Management  at  School" 
(Longmans,  1905),  though  written  from  a  more  conservative  standpoint 
than  the  present  work,  contains  many  excellent  observations  on  punishment, 
etc.  G.  Bernard  Shaw's  essay  on  Parents  and  Children,  prefixed  to  the 
volume  of  plays  entitled  "Misalliance,"  is  a  valuable  tractate  on  several 
questions  raised  in  this  chapter  and  throughout  the  book. 


INDEX 


Ability,  theories  of,  111 ;  tests  of,  114 

Abstraction,  nature  of,  179 

Ach,  N.,  173-4,  176 

Adams,  John,  9,  22,  139,  185,  209 

Adolescence,    56,   85,    150,   153    et 

seq. 
^Esthetic  activity,  79,  192 
Alexander,  S.,  22,  29,  32 
Alington,  Rev.  0.  A.,  189 
American  Army  tests,  114 
Amoeba,  behaviour  of ,  16-17 
Analytico-synthetio  process,  172  et 

seq. 
Appleton,  R.  B.,  63 
Archetypes  (Jung),  180 
Armstrong,  H.  E.,  heuristic  method, 

91 
Association,  types  of,  44 
Athletics,  cult  of,  214 
Automatic  processes,  29 
Autonomic  nervous  system,  166 
Autonomy  of  life,  11 
Axon  (of  neurone),  165 

Backwardness,  measurement  of,  110 
Baden-Powell,  Sir  R.  S.,  85,  103, 

149 
Baldwin,  J.  M.,  159 
Ballard,  P.  B.,  46,  110,  147 
Barker,  E.,  9 
Barnai  do  Homes,  105 
Beauty,  79,  192,  194 
Beneee,  E.,  22 
BePvGSOn,  40-1 

Bible,  the  use  of  the,  214,  220 
Binet,  A.,  mental  tests,  108  et  seq., 

1 18 ;  on  suggestibility,  126 
Blackburn,  Miss  M.,  122 
Body-mind  (Bosanquet),  18,  19 
Book,  W.  F.,  on  typewriting,  168 
Bosanquet,  B.,  3,  7,  11,  20,  22 
Boy  Scouts,  85,  149 
Bradley,  F.  H.,  3,  76,  161,  201 
Branford,  B.,  152,  202,  210,  220 
Breathing,  physiology  of,  25-6 
Bureau  of  Ed  Experiments,  103 
Burns,  C.  Deli^le,  67 
Burt,  0.,  110,  118 
Butler,  Samuel,  19,  22,  189 


Caird,  E.  and  J.,  3 

Caldecott  Community,  the,  75,  203 

Campagnac,  E.  T.,  220 

Carlyle,  T.,  112,  198,  203 

Carr,  H.  Wildon,  14,  40,  41,  194 

Carritt,  E.  F.,  194 

Cell-body,  165 

Central  intellective  factor,  113,  116 

Cerebral  cortex,  172 

Character,  116,  118 

Chesterton,  G.  K.,  99,  210 

Childishness  and  childlikeness,  149 

Cleverness,  117 

Clifford,  Sir  H.,  107 

Co-education,  203 

Cognition  and  action,  161 ;  growth 

of,  178  etseq. 
Conation,  conative  process,  20 
Concepts,  nature  of,  180 
Condillac'8  statue,  163 
Conduct,  development  of,  150  et  seq.; 

social  and  anti -social,  196-8 
Conscience,  156 
Conservative  activities,  24-6 
Consolidation,  46,  167,  199 
Continuation  schools,  56,  206 
Conversion  (sudden),  49 
Cook,  H.  Caldwell,  92, 103 
Corner,  A.,  152 
Creative  activities,  24,  27-8 
Crocb,  B.,  192,  194 
Crowd-psychology,  124 
Curriculum,  contents  of,  206,  211-12, 

principles  of,  206  et  seq. 

Dancing,  72, 120 

Darbishire,  A.  D..  22 

De  Baby,  A.,  12 

Dendron  and  dendrites  (of  neurone), 

165 
Descartes,  R.,  13-14, 18 
Determining  tendency,  44 
Dewey,  J.,  194,  205,  220 
Diagrams,  use  of,  185 
"  Diary  of  a  Dead  Officer,"  8 
Discipline,  62,  198  et  seq. 
Disposition,  primary  and  secondary, 

34-5 
Dramatic  method,  91 


221 


222 


INDEX 


Dreams,  50 

Drever,  J.,  69,  136-7,  139 

Driesch,  H.,  12,  22,  27 

Emotions,  55-6,  125,  138-9,  160 

Energy  (superfluous),  68 

Engram,  engram-complex  (defined), 

35 
Epicritic  sensibility,  132,  171 
Ethical  activity,   150  et  seq.,   193, 

195-8 
Eurhythmies,  60 

Evolution  and  culture-spread,  119 
Expressiveness,  31, 192, 197 
Extroversion,  145,  175 

Fabrb,  J.  H.,  131 
Fairgrieve,  J.,  212 
Fancy,  190 
Fatigue,  73 
Fisher  Act,  the,  206 
Formal  training,  209-11 
France,  Anatole,  7 
Frazer,  Sir  J.  G.,  66 
Freeman,  A.,  67 
Freewill,  174 
Freud,  S.,  47  et  seq.,  145-6 
Froebel  F.,  83,  90 

Galton,  Sir  F.,  104  et  seq. 

Garnett,  J.  C.  M.,  117,  118 

Gaskell,  W.  H.,  176 

General  education,  204 

George  Junior  Republic,  £2 

Girl  guides,  103 

Gooch,  G.  P.,  9 

Goring,  C,  118 

Green,  T.  H.,  3 

Gregarious  instinct,  149  et  seq.,  153-4 

Groos,  K.,  69,  70,  87 

Haldane,  J.  S.,  23,  25,  26,  32 

Lord,  3, 
Hall,  W.  Clarke,  75, 103 

G.  Stanley,  39,  41,  71,  159 
Handwriting,  teaching  of,  169 
Harrison,  Miss  J.,  65,  67 
Hart,  B.,  57,  80,  118,  129,  158 
Hartoo,  M.  M.,  41 
Hate,  psychology  of,  144 
Hayward,  F.  H.,  67,  105,  118 
Head,  H,  134,  171,  176 
Hegel,  G.  F.,  3,  4,  9 
Helvetius,  104 
Henderson,  Y.,  2C 


HERBART,neo-Herbartians,104  et  seq. 
Herd  instinct,  149 
Hetherington,  J.  W.,  9 
Hierarchy  (conative),  28,  142 
Hobbes,  T.,  3,  4,  9 
HoBHOtJSE,  L.  T.,  9,  22,  159 
Holman,  H.,  176 
Holmes,  E.,  92 
Holt,  E.  B.,  32,  176 
Horme  (defined),  21 
Horraic  hierarchy,  28-30,  112 
Hctey.E.  B.,  170 

Ibsen,  H.,  88 

Ideals  of  life  and  education,  2,  5 

Ideas,  nature  of,  184 

Imagery,  types  of,  161;  use  of,  186 

Imagination,  189 

Independence  of  organism,  23 

Individuality  (nature  of),  10 

Inner  speech,  161 

Insanity,  80-3 

Instinct  (defined),  133 

Intellectual  control,  191 

Intelligence  and  instinct,  131  et  seq. 

tests,  108  et  seq. 
Interest,  doctrine  of,  30 
Introversion,  145,  175 
Invention,  189 
Involuntary  nervous  system,  166 

James,  W.,  46-7,  53,  125,  139,  147, 

156,  157,  158,  177 
Jennings,  H.  S.,  15  et  seq.,  22 
Jeremiah,  99 
Johnson,  Dr.  S.,  50 
Jones,  Ernest,  49, 53-4, 57, 175, 188 

Sir  H,  3 
Jukes  family,  105 
Jung,  0.  G.,  47  et  seq.,  57,  180,  181 

Kant,  I.,  196 

Keatinge,  M.  W.,  1,  9,  91,  105, 108, 

118,  129,  139 
Keller,  Helen,  28,  182 
Kidd,  B.,  108,  118,  152 
Kimmins,  C.  W.,  91 

Lane,  Homer,  55,  92  et  seq.,  97,  103 
Language,  psychology  of,  186  et  seq. 
Learning  by  doing,  162 
by  experience,  36 
Le  Bon,  G.,  129 

Little  Commonwealth,  55,  92  et  seq., 
103 


INDEX 


223 


Loeb,  J.,  14,  22 
Long,  Dr.  C,  51 
Love,  psychology  of,  144 

Make-believe  play,  71,  80  et  seq. 
Malebranche,  i\.,  69 
McDougall,  W.,  40,  41,  73,  129, 

133e/se<7.,  139,  149,  154,  159,  167 
McMillan,  MissM.,  164 
McMunn,  N.,  92,  103 
Meaning,  178 

Mechanistic  view  of  life,  14,  22,  106 
Memorizing,  63,  67 
Memory,  conscious  and  unconscious, 

19-22;  Bergson  and  McDougall 

on,  40-1,  45-7 
Mental  age,  109 
Misdemeanours  of  children,  55 
Mitchell,  W.,  129 
Mneme  (defined),  22;  racial,  38 
Models,  use  of,  184 
Montessobi,  Dr.  M.,  83,  90  et  seq., 

96  et  seq.,  103,  163,  169,  174 
Moore,  T.  V.,  179 
Moral  education,  99  et  seq. 

tradition,  151-3 
Morality,  development  of,  150 
Morgan,  C.  Lloyd,  15, 119, 129, 139 

T.  H.,  12,  27 
Morris,  W.,  79 
Muirhead,  J.  F.,  9 
Multiple  personality,  158 

MtJNSTERBERG,  H.,  115,  118 

Myers,  C.  S.,  118,  176 

Nageli,  C.  W.,  12 

Natural  periods  of  education,  206 

goodness,  doctrine  of,  99  et  seq. 
Negative  self-feeling  and  instinct, 

138, 141  et  seq.,  149 
Nervous  system,  described,  164  et  seq. 
Neurones,  types  of,  165-6 
New  ideals  in  education  (Reports  of 

Conferences),  55,  56,  85,  122 
Nicoll,  Maurice,  50,  57 
Nursery  schools,  206 

Optio  thalamus,  172 
Order  (in  school),  61 
Organization  (school),  96 
Originality,  117,  122;  and  imitation, 
120 

Patrick,  G.  T.  W.,  75 
Patterns  (ideas),  180  et  seq. 


Pavlov,  I.  P.,  36 
Pearl,  R.,  16 
Pearson,  Karl,  104,  118 
Perception,  nature  of,  177  et  seq.; 

and  thought,  lo2 
Perry,  J.,  162 
Pfister,  0.,  57 

Pigmoid  stage  of  development,  39 
Planaria,  behaviour  of,  16-17 
Play  and  work,  75 ;  and  art,  78 
Play-way,  the,  92 
Pleasure-pain  principle,  148,  216 
Positive    self-feeling    and    instinct, 

138,  141  et  seq.,  149 
Practical  control,  191 

work,  162 
Prideaux,  E.,  129 
Primary  education,  206 

school  (defined),  60;  curriculum 
of,  206 
Prince,  Morton,  158 
Protopathio  sensibility,  134,  171 
Psycho-analysis,  31,  48  et  seq.,  201 
Punishment,  201 

Raymont,  T.,  220 
Read,  Carveth,  39,  149 
Reading,  teaching  of,  169 
Reality  principle,  148,  216 
Reasoning,  161,  190 
Recapitulation-theory,  39,  187 
Receptors,  17,  165 
Recognition,  nature  of,  178 
Recreation,  73 
Reflexes,   primary  and  secondary, 

166-7  f 

Regulation,  organic  and  psychic,25-7 
Relaxation,  74 
Religious  instruction,  212-15 
Rend  el,  Miss  L.,  75 
Repetition,    love     of,    59,    62;    in 

teaching,  62 
Repression,  49,  200 
Resistance  (unconscious),  52 
Rhythm,  59 
Ritual  (defined),  64 
Rivers,  W.  H.  R.,  51,  52,  65,  119 

134,  149 
Rousseau,  J.  J.,  90,  99 
Routine  and  school  order,  61 
Rusk,  R.  R.,  118 

Schemas  (in  perception,  etc.),  180 

et  seq. 
Schiller,  F.  von,  78 


224 


INDEX 


Schools,    boarding   and   day,    203; 

primary  and  secondary,  206 
Scratch  reflex,  166 
Secondary  education,  206 
Seguin,  163,  176 
Self-assertion  (defined),  24 
Self-feeling,  positive  and  negative, 

138,  141  etseq.,  149 
Self-government  in  schools,  94,  101 
Self-regarding  sentiment,  154  et  seq. 
Semon,  R.,  22,  34  et  seq.,  41 
Senses,  the,  170 
Sensori-motor  reactions,  164 
Sentiment  (defined),  143 
Shand,  A.  F,  78,  135-6,  143,  144, 

146,  159,  174 
Shaw,  G.  B.,  89,  123,  220 
Shblley,  P.  B.,  8,  99 
Sherrington,  C.  S.,  172,  176 
Simpson,  J.  H.,  94  et  seq.,  103 
Sinclair,  Miss  M.,  8 
Skill,  acquirement  of,  167  et  seq. 
Slaughter,  J.  W.,  159 
Sleight,  W.  G.,  209,  220 
Smith,  E.  M.,  183 

H.  Bompas,  56,  220 
L.  Pearsall,  187,  194 
Social  heredity,  62,  107 

instinct,  149  et  seq.,  196 
Society,  the  school  as    a,   202    et 

seq. 
Sollas,  W.  J.,  66 
Soxjthey,  R.,  59 
Spearman,  C.,  Ill  et  seq.,  118 
Speech,  cultivation  of,  123 
Spencer  W.  B., and  Gillen,  F.  J. ,  65 
Standard  deviation,  110 
Stentor,  behaviour  of,  15-16,  34 
Stern,  W.,  147 
Stevenson,  R.  L.,  45,  80,  81-2 
Strachan,  J.,  162 
Sturt,  H.,  180,  194 
Subjects,  free  choice  of,  216 
Sublimation  (defined),  54 
Suggestibility,  suggestion,  126-8 
Sully,  J.,  67 
Symbolism  (unconscious),  50 

in  science,  poetry,  etc.,  188 
Symbols,  perceptual  objects  as,  184 
Sympathy,  124 
Synapses,  165 


Teacher,  the  "  new,"  97,  100 
Temperament,  174-6 
Terman,  L.  T.,  118 
Theology,  213 

Thinking,  nature  of,  184  et  seq. 
Thompson,  D'Aecy,  14 
Thomson,  J.  A.,  22 
G.  H.,  113,  118 
Sir  J.  J.,  162 
Thorndike,  E.    L.,  45,   111,   121, 

139 
Times    (Educational    Supplement), 

149 
Titchener,  E.  B.,  194 
Tradition    in    education,    102;    in 

schools,  62,  153 

Unconscious  invention  and  memory, 

19-22 
Unconsciou-  the,  47  et  seq. 
Unity  in  diversity,  10,  35 

Veblen,  T.,  151-2 
Vocational  education,  88,  204 
tests,  115 

Wallas,  Graham,  61,  129,  138,  149 

Watt,  H.  J.,  41 

Waugh,  Alec,  76 

Waves  of  growth,  147,  206 

Webb,  E.  (on  character),  116,  118 

Welton,  J.,  9 

Westermarck,  E.,  151 

Westlake,  Miss  M.  A.,  103 

Whipple,  G.  M.,  118 

White,  W.  A.,  57 

Whitehead,  A.  N.,  89 

Will,  nature  of  ,173;  training  of,  174, 

forms  of,  174 
WiNcn,  W.  H.,  80 
Wolf-cubs,  103,  148 
Wolff,  G.,  118 
"  Woodcraft  Chivalry,"  103 
Words,  origin  of,  186 
Wordsworth,  W.,  189,  208,  214, 

215 
Work  and  play,  77-8 
Writing,  psychology  of,  43 
Wundt,  W.,  187,  194 

Young,  E.,  85 


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